Hearts And Minds
by Richard Banker
Summary: This is a story that uncovers the outrageous life stories of a generation, one of whom was Sylvia's aunt who were of the lesbian persuasion and how they inform Helen and Nikki and their circle of friends who feature enormously in this fic.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMERS: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any fictional characters either from literature or another TV show or film.

I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.

This fic borrows from a series 7 storyline only I've reshaped it and brought it back in time. I'm enormously grateful for Hopeless Romantic's very valuable help in betaing this fic. This isn't an easy challenge to do, especially the 'Arts Room' scene and Shed's original immortal dialogue but I've enjoyed it.

**A PORTRAIT OF LOVE **

**Scene One **

Margaret Winters sat at her carved round mahogany dining table in her Hampstead mansion. She was a sprightly seventy-eight old woman dressed in flowing robes who steadfastly refused to conform to society's expectation that she should be the respectable granny type. True, her hair was white and piled up, high on her head and her eyes were twinkling blue but she had strong views on the label that society tried to attach on her. She didn't conform to the expectation that, as you got older, then some mysterious natural conservatism would finally make you a fitting member of society and that youthful rebellion would become part of the past, disconnected from the present. She had no intention of living down her youth, only to continue the lifestyle that she had evolved all those years ago in her youth. She sighed at the thought of that dreary idea of family life, something that she had tried to escape from all her life. This was the reason why she had traveled all round the world and brought back mementos of her travels. She could see those faraway distant horizons in her mind's eye. She had always been contrary, as both her mother and sister had called her. In time, her sister had been duly married off to pass down to the next generation, a morass of dreary life restricting proverbs. She had taken herself off to the sinful big city to her circle of women of bohemian disposition and unconventional dress. Well, that was one way of describing it, she chuckled knowingly to herself.

Her hall was alive with ornaments and flowers set against the richly painted red walls. It cheered her up and the sparkle in her blue eyes still showed her mischievous nature that was adored by those close to her. On the wall of her living room was a treasured possession of hers. It was a portrait of three naked women. The woman in the center was facing away from the painter, her weight being poised elegantly on one leg and her left arm around the waist of the beauty facing the painter, whose feet were decorously crossed in front of each other. Her right arm enfolded the shoulders of the woman facing half towards her. The romantic portraiture was in the style of, and paid homage to, the Italian Renaissance except that English prudery, in which she had grown up, would never have allowed its display in the Tate Gallery.

She knew that she was stuck with the tag of 'Aunt Margaret.' Somehow, the word was repellently heterosexual just as was her only niece. She could picture the objectionable child many years ago on the one occasion that she came round to her house, escorted by her nervous conformist sister. She could see the square little face, upturned nose, suspicious eyes and the mind that registered the essential fact that there was no Uncle Whoever. She had tried to engage the child in conversation about her travels. After all, they taught geography and art in school and who better than her to talk about the Montmartre artistic colony in Paris, the romance of history and of foreign cultures, which she had avidly embraced from when she first traveled. It all fell on deaf ears, the wretched had child clung to her equally narrow minded mother, and that was the end of that. She had even temporarily moved her precious triptych portrait of three women to spare their sensibilities but to no avail.

The silver figurines of the female form on the dining room table also epitomized her life. It symbolized a woman proudly standing alone with no companion male figurine to keep it company. That symbolized her life for wasn't she a lifelong lesbian after all?

She had drawn up her will and had asked for her solicitor, a dear male friend of hers to value her mansion**. **She was alarmed to discover that at the rate house prices were going, it would be worth £2.2 million in three years time. She knew that only her loathsome niece was the obvious beneficiary unless she left her estate to the charities of her choice. The thought disturbed her as if she had one foot in the grave. Her rebellious mind shrank from such a thought. The problem with her life was that she was getting older. Being on her own at her time of life meant that her dearest companion of so many years had recently passed away. It left a huge hole in her heart that couldn't be filled. Her lifelong lover's presence pervaded the house and especially the slightly overgrown garden, which had been her pride and joy. She had accumulated an extensive library in a tall, carved mahogany bookcase and she foresaw with disgust that another part of her life's work would be scattered to the four winds in due course.

It meant that a lot of her life was now lived in a semi dreamlike state where her past was more real than the present, especially as she could still hear her lover's voice talk to her and see the places where she was accustomed to be. Suddenly, a smile crinkled up her face and her eyes sparkled, as her lover seemed to comfort her. She made her way to her bureau drawer where she kept several photographic reprints of the portrait. She had vaguely thought that it would make a really excellent postcard and now was her ideal chance. After all, she had given way to impulses all her life and her humour was irresistible. She reached for an old fashioned fountain pen and in regular inclined old-fashioned script wrote the following message. On the right hand side, she wrote out her niece's full name and address and on the left hand side, wrote the following.

"_Dearest Sylvia,_

_Just a quick card to let you know that I've been thinking of you quite as much as you have been thinking of me all these years. _

_Guess who's the woman in the middle?_

Aunt Margaret"

She slipped it inside a white envelope, addressed it, made her way out to the postbox round the corner, and gleefully delivered her bombshell.

*******

Bodybag was rush, rush rushing to get off to work with the doubtful assistance of her Bobby whose help of being dropped off to work in the hearse meant ministering to his last minute demands on her time. The man had no sense of time, she thought resentfully as she struggled to perform her wifely devotions. Consequently, the postman slipped the morning post through the letterbox of bills, junk mail and an innocent white envelope, whose handwriting she couldn't place off hand. With a sigh, she quickly discarded the junk mail, threw the expected bills on the side and ripped open the white envelope. She stuffed it in her overfull handbag to read on her tea break. That insistent voice cut in on her and grated on her nerves, as Bobby was now ready to set off in the hearse.

"Are you ready, Sylv?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming?" she said all in a fluster for the millionth time in her life.

Sure enough, she was deposited outside the gates of Larkhall prison, a couple of minutes late and bustled her way to the PO room a few minutes ahead of the meeting. She took out the letter and was just about to start to read it when a rustle of movement indicated that Madam had arrived annoyingly early so that the meeting was about to start. She dabbed down the letter on the side and pretended to be devoting her full attention to Betts. As Betts had asked everyone to consider volunteering for some new damn**-**fool task, she shot off out of the room in case she might be detained for it. Anyway, she felt unsafe being on her own with that bossy woman. Consequently, the letter remained on the side, undisturbed, half opened, the neat old-fashioned script just waiting for the curious mind.

Sure enough, just such a mind appeared in the form of the virtuous Barbara Mills. She was a small, middle aged, respectable Christian woman whose old fashioned appearance was belied by a powerful sense of justice perversely enhanced by the petty tyrannies at Larkhall prison. Her traditional deference to authority had been rapidly whittled away by her increasing contempt for authority without morality. Worse still, Fenner and Bodybag had recently turned over the cell she shared with Nikki for no particular reason. Barbara was shrewd enough to understand a kindred spirit in Nikki, helped by her instinctive sympathy for the underdog. Cheap jeers at Nikki's sexuality contributed to that sense of solidarity. She was the embodiment of the Church Militant.

It was in this frame of mind that Barbara came to clean up the PO room and get ready for the first morning cup of tea of the day. Most POs were reasonable but Bodybag just had to have her tea medium strong and never more than one sugar. In the past, she had demanded loudly and offensively that Barbara remake her mug of tea. As Barbara's quick eye spotted the letter, she knew that she had to have a quick peek. As she eased open the card, her sense of hypocrisy kicked in and illuminated her face in a mischievous smile. It gave her a backstage glimpse behind that solid brick wall of prejudice and salved her conscience, as God would surely understand. She slipped the letter into her overall pocket and had just brewed up when the first of the PO's poured into the room

The prisoners trudged their way to the servery as normal, looked round and a perfect hush lasted for five seconds while Denny's eyes lit up in astonishment at this wondrous vision. What the frigging hell was it? She finally ran over, took it off the wall and inspected it.

"It's Bodybag," she yelled out misleadingly.

"You what?" echoes the Julies.

"We didn't know you had it in you, Miss," Yvonne called out loudly, a big grin on her face.

"All right, all right. What's all this fuss and palaver all about?" Bodybag called out unwisely, not cottoning on to the developing playful cheeriness.

"Yeah, you're a dark horse all right. Whatever would Bobby think of you," retorted Yvonne.

"Actually, the card looks quite artistic," Nikki finally called out in a cool, considered tone of voice. "You've got some style at last, Bodybag. Mind you, the original ought to hang in the National Portrait Gallery."

Nikki's low-key intervention caused Bodybag to splutter incoherently with rage. The very thought filled her with outrage and a lurking fear that some 'politically correct, do gooder' might just do that. That would be just what her aunt might be scheming at and disgrace the family name. Sometimes, she thought there was a secret conspiracy to make every woman a lesbian.

"It's all right, Sylvia. If no one wants to claim the card, I'll confiscate it," Helen called out sternly as a red-faced furious Bodybag stood, rooted to the floor. Inadvertently and totally incorrectly, she looked as guilty as sin to everyone's vast amusement while Helen did a splendid job of controlling her facial emotions. Inwardly, her emotions were churning around.

"You can take it and throw it away. I won't have such filth on the wing. Order, order. The next woman who's out of line, I'll bang up till Christmas," she shouted with impotent rage.

Gradually, the laughter died down and finally the prisoners resumed their place in the breakfast queue though they smirked with pleasure at this fantastic practical joke. This was real style. Whoever was responsible for this? The finger of suspicion was on Nikki even though she innocently ate up her breakfast with relish.


	2. Chapter 2

Scene Two

Helen Stewart had never expected to feel so friendless as she had confronted the harsh reality of being G Wing governor. She had hoped to be seen as caring, both for staff and prisoners alike with her warm-hearted personality and her humanitarian ideas diffusing itself through G wing to transform it. She saw herself as firm, fair and principled but it took time for her to see that all the cynical old-timers were interested in was in rigging the game to suit their selfish interests and to keep troublemakers down. It meant that it took time for the prisoners to understand her as covert injustices were first considered to have Helen's name on them until, they got her measure. Helen got to hear too many instances betraying an endemic favouritism in barely suppressed asides at meetings and this shocked her.

At the center of her struggles was that most puzzling conundrum, the supposed hard case lifer, Nikki Wade. Helen knew enough to instinctively reject such easy labelling. She saw that the other woman's accusations and public taunts of injustice aroused a sneaking sympathy**, **though she could never admit her feelings to the woman. Sometimes, Nikki was halfway responsive to her attempts to get her onside and other times, coldly rebuffed her. Nikki Wade resonated through her in ways she couldn't describe or explain**, **and she had to admit that the other woman's opinion mattered to her, as an index of honesty, she supposed. She fiercely contested the scoffing words of her enemies that 'Wade was only a troublemaking con.'

Looking back Helen now understood why she had let Nikki off with a caution for attacking Shell Dockley. This was Nikki's heartfelt protest at life being considered so cheaply, like Rachel Hicks' suicide and it resonated with Helen. If she'd been in Nikki's shoes, she might have done the same, she concluded with a dreamy smile on her lips. She'd watched that hard mask drop from the other woman's face and seen the real woman walk uncertainly out of her office that she'd always suspected had existed. It was events like this that had started an unusual friendship between the two women. Somehow, Nikki sensed Helen's feelings and responded to them and this was a new experience with just that dash of emotional agitation that she couldn't put her finger on.

She lay on the settee watching some meaningless TV while becoming conscious how Sean's prattle over the top irritated her. She became aware that her mouth playfully bantered back at him while completely disengaged from her brain. By contrast, she remembered when she and Nikki talked about one of her favourite books, their conversation was as real as can be, just like the way she enlisted Nikki's help to get Monica to pursue her appeal. She was conscious that, while others faded into an amorphous background blurs, Nikki's tall slim shape, those deep brown soulful eyes and perfectly formed face stood out in sharp relief. She felt more alive and focused when she was with her than at any other time in her life while Sean finally faded out of her life.

Helen and Nikki had exchanged brief kisses on two occasions and they had feasted their eyes on each other across the hard red Formica table in the visitor's room. Even then, Helen blanked out any eye contact with Fenner and Bodybag on her way out after saying goodbye to Nikki. They both knew that her promise to 'make things work' wasn't just Nikki's appeal.

Today was the tipping point in her relationship with Nikki. For a long time, Helen couldn't get that image of the three women out of her mind because of her own slow burning emotions. That image of Sapphic erotica unleashed a torrent of emotion and desires that burned through her system. It also gave her some much needed validation and reassurance that her feelings weren't just running out of control. One of the women might be redundant but the other two certainly weren't. All this time, Helen had grown to feel intensely and romantically in love with Nikki but this vision pushed her that one step further. It enticed her to want to take a more deliberate step. She wanted this woman who had first captured her imagination, then her heart and finally her desires_. _

Today was face up time, Helen concluded as she dug out Nikki's prison file and her analytical mind set to work. She didn't know what she would find.

"Oh shit," she exclaimed to herself as she saw Nikki's blind anger lashing out at the police in her statement much as she had seen in the protest over Carol Byatt's miscarriage. She'd felt similarly angry at Bodybag's criminal neglect in causing that horrible accident and lying through her teeth when she questioned her the morning after.

"Are you a cold-blooded killer?" Helen asked Nikki in the library as she tried to map out her own feelings, her own capacity for anger.

"Of course not," Nikki replied intensely, all her fiery passions proving the lie to the judge who had sentenced her.

When Nikki gave her a sideways nod, Helen eagerly gathered up her possessions, as she knew that their capacity for passion united them. Somehow, everything between them was delightfully turned upside down as she crossed the barrier to the Art Room and found Nikki's open arms and open desires waiting for her. They slipped into each other's arms and kissed each other's lips and cheeks. To Helen's intense frustration, she somehow froze when Nikki's fingers were delicately stroking her breasts and her dreams were being most realized. To her horror, some panic fears of intrusion into their world took hold of her against her will.

"You really must think me totally lame, Nikki. I'm really sorry. This isn't what I wanted," she said at last, leaning her head against her would be lover.

"I'm sorry too, Helen if I come over as some experienced lesbian lusting after you all the time," Nikki said at last, in a heartbreakingly controlled polite tone of voice. Unknown to the taller woman, her noble self-sacrifice totally did in Helen. She wasn't used to not being blamed for something that was arguably her fault.

"Don't you think I don't feel the same, especially when I read your love letter to me in bed. I could imagine you next to me so easily…." answered Helen, her voice suffused with desire and her large green eyes locked on Nikki's as she temporarily grabbed hold of what she wanted. "I'm just scared of Sod's Law – the one time we're snogging, some bastard interrupts what we most want."

"So let's talk – afterwards," Nikki urged eagerly. She was on fire all over with desire for her woman.

"Not so fast, Nikki. We need to talk. About our future, I mean."

Helen finally steadied her wildly oscillating emotions and started to frame words round them. That way, she felt more secure. The problem was that always and always, the tangible conflicting realities of her role in the prison service and Nikki as prisoner made her look over her shoulder all the time and did weird things to her head. This was her way out, correction, their way out.

Nikki's expression had become downcast when Helen started speaking, fearing it was the prelude to her breaking off their relationship. The final words turned on a ray of sunshine in her mind.

"I'm listening, Helen," she said, speaking as a true friend ought to. The words reassured Helen.

"Nikki, this is all so new to me. It's like learning a new language or getting all of me to go the way I really want to go. This is more than some romantic dream. I can see that this is life changing**;** about the way we live our lives. It's isn't so easy to change the habits of a lifetime, especially when I've always been so certain of what I've wanted to do with my life. I've wanted to make something for life, to realize my dreams for justice, to finally settle down with a man. It's so scary to think of how others might think of me……."

"I can give you nearly everything Helen, except the last one," Nikki said softly as she touched the other woman's chin. "That could be a problem. I'd just love to invite you back to my place and let the evening flow together between us. I can promise you that you'll end up thinking that any other way of living isn't natural."

"Except for the slight problem of pushing your appeal for all I'm worth and getting you out of here. I'll do it. I mean that."

"You really do mean every word you say," breathed Nikki. The determined tone of Helen's promise spoke love to her and was music to her ears. They looked into each other's eyes and kissed each other twice, softly and gently, rubbing noses against each other. Both women's hearts were beating loudly as the Arts Room detached them from everyday pressures.

"In the meantime, I'm stuck with being a prison officer and you as prisoner. It won't be easy living our lives under wraps," pronounced Helen soberly.

"I know," sighed Nikki in frustration even though she knew that Helen's talk of their future was another of Helen's declaration of love.

"I gotta go, Nikki," Helen finally said as they caressed each other's hands in silence.

"Do you really have to go right now?" Nikki replied, her big brown eyes looking appealingly into Helen's. The smaller woman's eyes flickered and she knew that Nikki saw right through her.

"I, we, I have business to get on with but I find your honesty so intense at times that it makes me feel dizzy. There is no one like you. I'm worried that I can't live up to it….."

"Helen, the last thing I ever want to do is to hurt you or upset you," Nikki said in such melting tones, when she had so nearly said 'darling.' To move from 'Miss Stewart' to 'Helen' was such a mighty leap. "Hey, put your head on my shoulder."

With a relieved sigh, Helen laid her head against Nikki and felt that strength and sympathy wrap itself round her as Nikki's hand gently caressed her back. She let her arms slide round the other woman's waist and let her head slip a little lower. She wished she could stay like that forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Scene Three

Jim Fenner, the sinister and enigmatic G Wing principal Officer was in an unusually jumpy and paranoid mood. He divided up women between those who were potentially attracted to him or fooled by him and those who weren't. He took great exception to this second group and was abnormally sensitive to the concept that these hostile women were out to do him down. He had a number of 'hate fantasies' and those at the top of the list were Atkins, Stewart and Wade. In cooler moments, he figured out that Atkins had her own fish to fry and, only on occasion, crossed him. Stewart had roused his rage but she was on Home Office business some of the time, therefore out of his hair, and only crossed him through that bloody Lifer's Unit. That left Wade as his full time enemy.

"You really think that girlfriend of yours will pull strings and swing it for you. Some hope," he scoffed pointedly one day.

"Believe what you want to believe, Fenner," Nikki shot back with controlled patience. She knew very well from Helen how she had to cool it and stay out of trouble.

"Your trouble, Wade, is that you're not in the outside world. When you got sent down, there were all sorts of trendy lefties playing about with all sorts of airy-fairy ideas. Since then, this government's really come down hard on crime and all these Hampstead intellectuals aren't the blue eyed boys and girls these days. That means that some hardened lesbian cop killer hasn't got a cat's chance in hell. Better get used to it, Wade," Fenner continued with an evil leer. "You'd better make sure you're comfy in your single cell 'cos you'll be there a long, long time, till when you're old and grey."

"You really love the sound of your own voice, Fenner. Pity I'm not listening to a word of what you say. No wonder your wife chucked you," sneered back Nikki.

Fenner raised his right fist in a threatening fashion as his face turned red with rage. Nikki's anger flamed up despite her best intentions to control herself. He was the personification of what she most hated in the world, even more than Dockley and Bodybag. She admired Barbara's Christian ideals but she had never felt guilty about her own passionate emotions, if rightly directed.

"Yeah, that's what really scares you, Fenner. You tell so many lies to so many people. The many sides of Fenner, eh? How long can you keep it up before your life falls apart when all these balls you keep juggling in the air slip through your fingers? It's all one big act, that's what you life ever was. You hate me as the symbol of what you can't intimidate, or control. I'm too sharp for you," snarled back Nikki.

"Yeah? I can keep turning over your cell and find the coke you've been dealing. If it's the choice between a government prison officer and a lesbian cop killer, who'll be believed now that your Miss Stewart isn't at the centre of things."

"In your dreams, Fenner. You know that my reputation is that I have nothing to do with drugs. The real trouble is that you're really scared that one of these days**;** you won't keep your lies together. Everything will collapse round your ears and where does that leave you, Fenner? Nothing and no one. They'll see you for what you are and, mark my words, some have seen that already. That is, of course, if you don't go completely psychotic. You're well on the way there already."

Nikki spoke in low, breathy, intense words and she caught his blue eyes in her vision. She was seriously threatening his psyche and this was far more dangerous than threatening him with a broken bottle to his neck. The man turned ashen white and turned away.

********

"I had a judge as a punter once. He wanted me to stick a feather up his behind so he could call out 'cock a doodle doo'" laughed Julie Johnson derisively, only half watching the TV. She was having too good a laugh with Ju.

"Oh no, it's a bleeding party political broadcast," Yvonne moaned as she saw what was coming next. Her allergy to ordinary bullshit made this sort of rubbish especially excruciating. "Turn it over someone, quick."

Only the inertia of who was going to stand up and switch channels on the set meant that the startling revelation would be revealed instead of being cut short by the click of a remote control.

"I am addressing you as Home Secretary to speak for the party that is tough on crime and tough on the causes of crime. We have measures in place to ensure that every hard working family can walk the streets and feel safe at night………," the pompous voice started to intone. The sharp suited man appeared in the specially decked up studio with a back projection of an 'inner city scene' designed to show how connected he was to the ordinary voter.

"Hey, I know him. He was once a punter of mine. I can remember he was a real let down. Tight bastard as well," Julie Johnson said in tones of utter surprise and finishing on a flat note.

"Gawd almighty," exclaimed Julie Johnson.

Nikki was silent. This was the man whom Helen was relying upon to have mercy. It didn't raise her hopes very high. By chance, Helen Stewart was walking round the wing and saw it all. Her mind started to race furiously as she saw that she might have miscalculated. Her approach to petition the Home Office was very logically and clearly framed and would work fine – for the right Home Office minister and not this bigoted reactionary.

Sure enough, the letter came through the post. Helen opened it with a sick feeling in her stomach. Her frozen fingers ripped the letter open and laid it on her desk.

"Oh shit. Oh bloody hell," she moaned in helpless despair.

Immediately, she was plunged into a state of utter despair, In cold hard words, the Home Secretary had given 'careful consideration' (like hell she thought) but considered that 'there were no grounds to reconsider such a bloodthirsty murder' (in other words, the bastard didn't want to lose face) and that 'granting leave to appeal would have an adverse effect on public opinion' (in other words the average ignorant, racist, homophobic Sun reader). Tears ran down her face as she saw all her dreams so cruelly dashed. If there was anything she wanted in her life, it was to live with this extraordinary woman who had made her come alive.

Another thought hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. How on earth was she going to tell Nikki? She couldn't even begin to plumb the depths of her feelings of guilt as she had been so enthusiastic about Nikki's appeal and finally persuaded the reluctant woman. How could she have let her down like this? She could never forgive herself and they could never get over such a catastrophe.


	4. Chapter 4

Scene Four

"What do we do now?" wailed Nikki in total despair the next day, tears running down her cheeks. There was a sick feeling in her stomach after Helen had dropped the bombshell on her. From the second Helen burst into her cell early in the morning, she knew that this was the worst possible news. It was the hollows under Helen's eyes and her pale skin that foreshadowed disaster when normally, Helen lit up at the sight of her. This was the end of her world, a total dashing of her hopes as she heard the smaller woman's hesitant words. Even Helen wouldn't dedicate her life to such a lost cause. She had lost everything. Her life had ended.

"There's just one chance, Nikki. You and I heard Julie tell how one of her punters was that bastard of a Home Secretary. Now I believe every word she says just like I'm sure you do," Helen answered, a wild desperate thought buzzing through her mind.

"So where does that get us?"

"I'm going to a conference this weekend on 'Crime and Punishment' where there'll be all kinds of people from the Home Office, the judiciary, solicitors and barristers, etc. This may be our only chance to get somewhere."

"What have you got in mind, Helen?"

"I haven't a clue but I've a feeling that something will turn up. You have to trust me. It's our only hope now. The good thing is that this hasn't hit the press. That's another reason why we have to act fast. You have to trust me, Nikki."

Nikki was so deeply immersed in her misery that she only just noticed Helen's extreme agitation, her repetition of words even when she kissed Nikki briefly and shot off like a bat out of hell.

Helen found the speechifying and discussion part of the conference more or less as she had expected after the initial sensation of having a bucketful of assorted voices splashed in her face as soon as she entered the conference building. In her agitated frame of mind, she was enraged enough to get up on her feet to join in the discussion when an elegantly dressed man held forth on the need for a 'short sharp shock for imprisoned criminals to deter them from ever committing crimes so that the streets of England can be made safe.' She felt that she had nothing personally to lose in rocking the boat. She was already thinking of quitting her job.

"With all due respect, the last speaker is totally ignoring the experience of the last twenty years. It didn't work under Margaret Thatcher and it won't work now. I am speaking as a former wing governor and employee of the Home Office. There is a dire need to offer meaningful education for prison inmates and a need to recognize the fact that prisons only work with the cooperation of the inmates. Unlike us, they're there twenty four seven and not only that, they notice more than you can ever imagine."

After delivering her impassioned speech, Helen sat down to a stunned silence, which was only broken by a smartly dressed middle-aged man sitting near to her who clapped loudly and was joined uneasily by a smattering of others. Helen felt Nikki's smile of approval as she regained her breath.

Sure enough, this man made a beeline for her at the after conference drinks session. Helen found this perfectly terrifying. She ought to have been perfectly comfortable as this was nothing that she hadn't experienced before and she had done her share in laughing and joking and drinking and flirting but she was another woman then. It was brought home to her just how far she had travelled emotionally thanks to Nikki. The whole scene was terrifyingly heterosexual and made her incredibly tense. Her nerves were out on stalks. She realized now that she was being chatted up by this man who was attractive enough in his way even if she had never had a particular partiality for older men. Finally, she made her decision to speak.

"Let's go somewhere more private, John. We need to talk. There's a lot about me that you don't know."

The man raised his eyebrows quizzically and gestured to an alcove. Drinks in hand, they made their way to the table for two and Helen faced the man across the table. Her breathing was short and sharp. She ran her tongue along her lower lip and she charged blindly in.

"The first thing you have to know is that I'm a lesbian. I'm deeply in love with a female inmate who I assure you is every inch my equal. You may have heard of her. Her name is Nikki Wade. She's been a victim of a grave injustice and I'm determined to put it right."

John Deed was far more startled than he let on while Helen did a double take of her declaration of her new identity. Immediately, his sense of sexual arousal was switched off like a light and his intense curiosity was switched on instead. Unknown to Helen, he knew Nikki's case well and was acutely aware that it was flawed from start to finish. This evening wasn't shaping up the way he had intended but his whole being was energized by Helen's desperate appeal to him for justice.

"I understand and accept everything you say about yourself. I followed the original case and I was gravely disturbed. Tell me every detail of the case."

Helen was enormously relieved by the obvious interest of the man, which was for the right reason and rapidly launched into a precise description of the facts. She could see that the man was hanging on every word she was saying. His brow darkened with anger as he took in the full extent of the injustice done to Nikki and his sympathies were entirely engaged. He broke into a hearty laugh when he heard about Julie Johnson's account of her encounter with Neil Haughton, far away from his lofty podium. It confirmed his total disgust at the man's hypocrisy as he recalled his previous party political broadcast of back to basic old-fashioned morality.

"I thought I'd explain a bit about myself, Helen. I am a high court judge and my ex-wife George Channing has been living with the present Home Secretary for some years. This all hinges on the credibility of witnesses. I believe every word you say but I am reliant upon your good word, someone who I've only met this night who, in turn, had overheard the words of a prostitute, if you don't mind me putting it this way."

"I respect your attitude, John. I can assure you that I know Julie Johnson, the woman concerned and I believe every word she is saying."

"Good. I have it in mind to have a discreet word with Haughton and to gently persuade him that 'the quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain above.' He will see reason**,** as the man is a coward. He is deathly afraid of George's wrath. He has very good reason to be."

Helen grinned freely at the man's obvious humanity and humour. The man was no longer a threat. A huge feeling of relief ran through her nervous system**,** as she couldn't believe her good luck.

"I can't express how grateful I am to you, John. You are a real star."

"You give me your phone number and I'll tell you how I've got on. I can't guarentee success but I'll do my level best. You relax and enjoy yourself for the rest of the conference. Helen," and here he hesitated as he paused for thought. .... **"**your girlfriend must be really special."

"She is," murmured Helen, the light of love in her eyes. The only thing she regretted was that she couldn't phone Nikki who would be on tenterhooks all weekend, not knowing how the ballgame had changed. John smiled freely and unselfishly Sure enough, John was as good as his word and a letter from the Home Office followed with the typical politician bullshit. Helen passed the message for Nikki to come into her room and she showed the dark haired woman the letter. Nikki wept tears of joy in a state of utter disbelief at the letter till the reality hit them and both women's faces lit up like beacons. They embraced each other in a demonstration of joy and exaltation and jigged about the room in a crazy dance. Claire smiled on fondly at the two women. If ever two people in the world deserved good fortune, it was them.

On her way out of Helen's office, Nikki walked up to Fenner and Bodybag and smiled cheekily at the pair of them. She felt as if a spring was in every step she took and the sunlight glinted into her world even if it was only the artificial strip lights she lived under.

"By the way, Fenner, my appeal hearing's come through. I might not be here for very much longer. That would suit both of us. I'll be out of both your hair and you'll both be out of mine- that is, unless we bump into each other at the supermarket."

"Don't count your chickens Wade, just because your little governor's been working after hours for you," snarled Fenner in impotent rage.

"I bet Stewart's been working the system like Sooty," grumbled Bodybag.

Nikki strolled off, a secret smile playing on her lips. They little knew how right they were.

The trial was a total triumph. Outside the court, Helen had been introduced to Trisha**,** Nikki's ex-partner, a fair-haired woman whose concern for Nikki was clearly platonic. They had hit it off straightaway and made their way to their places to the visitor's gallery.

The prosecution blustered, huffed and puffed but the defence barrister deployed fresh evidence with lethal precision. The whole credibility of the police evidence was entirely overthrown. Helen was sitting in the visitor's gallery, her heart in her mouth, watching and admiring how bravely her lover stood in the dock so impassively and heard the arguments and counter arguments without flinching. There was no mouthing off as Nikki might have done at one time. Helen saw a smart suited man impassively sitting in the court who needed no introductions to her. It was John Deed who had clearly come to see the case through to the finish.

Finally, the atmosphere was wound up to fever pitch as all Helen and Nikki's deliberations were put to the test. They barely heard the technicalities but the words "Nicola Wade, you are free to go," stood out in sharp relief, even to a dazed looking Nikki.

Helen joined in with the terrific cheer from the gallery and all the women in the gallery flung their arms round each other. They all clattered their way downstairs, Trisha letting Nikki lead the way. Helen was desperate to get down the flight of steps to her lover.

Nikki hugged and loved those dearest to her and effusively shook her barrister's hand. Finally, she gave hearty thanks to a smiling John Deed who said that what he did was nothing. Helen could tell that John was favourably impressed with Nikki as who wouldn't be? They swept off to 'Chix' and Helen felt instantly at home in the place. She drew in huge gulps of air and felt a dreamy haze sweep through her as her hand was linked with Nikki's and she chattered away, nine to the dozen. It was when Nikki took her by the hand and invited her to the dance floor that she knew that her dreams were complete, well nearly.

She couldn't believe her good fortune when, once again, she could openly feast her eyes on her lover except, this time, there were no disapproving faces and no rules and regulations to say 'no.' Everything around her was saying 'yes' to their love. Inwardly, she swooned inside as Nikki was such a good dancer and they moved their bodies in tune with each other. When a slow ballad was being played, she slipped easily into Nikki's arms.

"Wanna come back to my place, sweetheart?" she finally said seductively to Nikki. Oh what a thrill to call her by the endearment Helen had so wanted to call her.

"Of course, darling," came the murmurous reply which made Helen's desires flame up inside her.

When they finally arrived back at the dimly lit coziness of Helen's flat, Nikki immediately put her arms round her and they kissed each other eagerly, quickly discarding Nikki's coat and Helen's red leather jacket. Nikki slid her hand up Helen's breast and the smaller woman shivered inside and started unbuttoning Nikki's black shirt and kissing the taller woman's neck. This time, Nikki was delighted to see that Helen had no reservations of any kind. They were on fire for each other after all these months and murmured sweet endearments as they were finally naked and in Helen's bed. They looked at each other in wonder at the vision of perfection they each saw before the other. Helen slid on top of her lover and started kissing her in earnest. Nikki was in seventh heaven as all her fantasies for all these months were at last coming true.

Many weeks later, when the two women had become comfortably ensconced in Helen's flat, Nikki had that irresistible urge to trace the original of the postcard on the G wing wall. Helen got the message and, Nikki's hands resting comfortably on her shoulders, tracked it down on her home computer and, sure enough, the triptych came into view. It named the current owner, Margaret Winters. With a little adroit detective work, they located the address and by common consent, Nikki was deputized to make the phone call.

********

Margaret Winters had been depressed by the total silence in reaction to her bombshell through the post. Her loathsome niece hadn't picked up the phone to complain bitterly at her actions. After all, she was Number One suspect. The sudden shrilling of the phone disturbed her reveries when this well modulated, polite respectful voice talked to her and expressed interest in the painting which she was sure that no one in the world had heard of. She started making rapid mental connections and agreed at once to the visit. She needed bringing back to the present as, at one time**;** this is where she had lived her life so intensely.

Nikki and Helen were overawed at the rich explosions of colour and form that greeted them as they opened the front door. Immediately, both women knew that this was what their cozy flat unknowingly aspired to. As soon as the polite exchange of greetings were concluded, Nikki took in the very sharp eyes that looked at her and that sense of style about the woman. In turn, Margaret Winters fondly took in the evident sense of closeness between the two women. It reminded her of how she and her late partner had started their life together. She also saw how the eyes of the taller woman immediately fastened themselves on her bookcase where they lingered awhile. She smiled approvingly at such a civilized and rare instinct. She liked both women at once. It would never have occurred to any of her sister's family to look in this direction but only to scrutinize how the house was cleaned and dusted in a thoroughly prim and proper bourgeois manner.

"Excuse me, Margaret, but I am totally fascinated by your book collection. There are some extremely rare volumes here which I've heard of but never seen."

"By all means, take a look," she offered. She approved how reverently Nikki handled each volume. She started chatting away to the very charming smaller woman.

It was when the two women arrived at the painting that their jaws hung open in wonder and admiration. This was a vision of paradise to them.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you come to hear of this painting? You will forgive my curiosity."

"That is easily explained," answered Helen with a grin, producing the postcard from her handbag. "I used to work at Larkhall prison when a postcard copy of this painting was pinned up on the wall. It helped to bring Nikki and I together. It also caused huge amusement at the expense of a very bigoted, homophobic prison officer called Sylvia Hollamby. Perhaps you know her?"

"….she's my niece but unfortunately, you don't choose who you're related to," observed

the older woman dryly to the appreciation of the irony loving Nikki.

Nikki joined in the story, gleefully explaining how G Wing had supposed that Bodybag had posed as the woman in the middle when Margaret Winters burst into helpless laughter. She dabbed her lace handkerchief to her eyes. She had never intended this consequence at all and the humour was too delightful. She immediately shed some of her years and she felt on top of the world. This was like one of her parties of old and these two charming women belonged to it.

"Nikki, exactly who did put up that picture on the wall?" Helen suddenly asked and Nikki's grin told her the answer.

"Shall I let you into a secret? I was the woman in the middle. It was painted many years ago. Do you want to hear my story and perhaps you care to tell us something of yourselves?" Margaret added.

Helen and Nikki eagerly asked to hear this vivacious woman start to recount the first part of a living history. They so much wanted to hear from someone who was also very alert and intelligent and who promised to be an excellent conversationalist. As Margaret Winters started to bring up her life story into the living world to these two dear women, she knew now what she wanted to do with her will and that she still had a function in life.


	5. Chapter 5

Hi everyone.

**Hearts and Minds **is my follow up fic to **Portrait of Love** my short fic in the BGEnhanced Pic Challenge of Summer 2008. This was prompted by the marvellous feedback to the fic and, above all, that I couldn't leave the storyline at that point including Margaret Winters without letting it run its length. This is a short fic- well short by my standards.

DISCLAIMERS: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any fictional characters either from literature or another TV show or film.

I am happy to accept constructive feedback openly as it will improve the quality of my writing. Please use Private Message or email for any feedback of an extensive nature.

Hearts and Minds – Scene One

**SCENE FIVE**

"So what was it like growing up as a lesbian in your day?" Nikki asked when the moment felt right. Suddenly, she realized that she was pushy, far too modern and direct. She needed to make the sort of allowances that she hadn't thought was wanted to expand her sensibilities and encompass their friend's perspectives." Oh I'm sorry, Margaret. I don't want to be intrusive. I'm just interested in your experiences, curious what it was like to grow up in a different age than this."

"You know what Sylvia is like. I was always regarded as somehow arty and different even when I was a child. You can imagine the strict discipline I grew up in, something which I always rebelled at as opposed to my sister who was always good and never questioned anything…….It was strange that in those days, you were allowed to have a 'pash' for an older girl so long as it was thought to be innocent, something you were expected to outgrow. Well, that happened to me except that I didn't outgrow it. It came to feel perfectly natural. I didn't see why I should fit anyone's expectations."

Their friend was delicately assuring them that what they said was fine by her. In this way, Helen and Nikki's sensibilities felt heightened by the combination of civilized, intelligent conversation with Margaret Winters, her extraordinarily exotic house, and the delicious irony of her being the aunt of that bigoted malicious enemy of theirs, Sylvia Hollamby. The picture of the three nude women, painted long ago, hovered on the periphery of their vision and this motif flavoured their experience of this meeting of experiences.

"We understand perfectly," breathed Nikki, her imagination on fire.

"You're lucky, Margaret, knowing who you were from the off," added Helen in a wistful tone of voice. Margaret's sharp gaze took in everything with deep understanding and the two women felt in their bones how much a lifetime's experience was distilled into this look. She knew.

"I remember when I was allowed to stay at a friend's house and share a bed. We both felt far too nervous to do anything than hold hands, however romantically in love we were. There were no textbooks, no woman's magazines on how to be attractive to your female lover. We were fortunate that houses had thick soundproof walls in those days. No one suspected a thing. Of course, the problem was that far too many women thought they should live according to traditional family ideas. Some of my dearest friends succumbed by marrying and living lives of quiet desperation, especially if they wanted children."

"How horrible," Helen said, her face twisted in visible concern for this woman

"I suppose there was the occasional compensation. Because Queen Victoria never thought that love between women was possible, it meant that I could walk arm in arm with my girlfriend of the day quite comfortably without worrying a jot."

Both Helen and Nikki doubled over, laughing out loud at the delicious irony of Margaret's remark.

"That is so funny, Margaret. I thought the Victoria age had much to answer for…..except the novels from that era of course."

"In case you hadn't realized it by now, Nikki is such a reader," put in Helen by way of explanation.

"Indeed. I'm gratified by it. I'd be interested how you find going round in public these days. I confess I don't get out much these days and anyway, I look like the archetypal respectable old lady."

"It varies," Helen said thoughtfully." It depends on the feel of the locality. There are some places where I wouldn't worry and others where I'd think twice about showing any obvious physical affection. There are homophobes walking the street not to say misogynists. Everything is a bit more upfront and lesbianism going more mainstream cuts two ways……..,Anyway," Helen carried on in more sprightly tones after her period of reflection," do carry on with your story. We're absolutely fascinated."

"You probably realize that I used to be very flirtatious when I was young. The only problem was that one could never be quite sure if the other girl was similarly inclined or not. Of course, if she wore trousers, I used to be more optimistic," Margaret continued in an almost girlish tone of voice.

"I know the feeling very well," Nikki said very sympathetically." There's the same problem these days. It's got to the point that you really can't tell by obvious fashion these days. You suspect it by feel."

"I remember when I first saw Julia. She was beautiful and she took my breath away. I can remember her curly blond hair and the women's slacks she wore- she was the first woman I knew to dress that way. My heart told me what I should do."

"That is so, so romantic," Helen said slowly, seeing the human being in her place and in her time. It felt so real.

"I was one of the first woman drivers. Well, I thought it couldn't be that hard to learn to drive. No one gave me any reason why I couldn't so I bought a little Austin 7. I really loved that car and I took Julia out into the countryside. There were hardly any other cars on the roads so we were able to find somewhere quiet and that was when I really found about what making love with another woman was about. Kissing and holding hands were all very fine but Julia and I were on fire to discover what that something else was all about. The sun was shining and the day was warm. We kissed and touched each other in the car for a long time before finding a shady bower. I remember the sunlight gleaming through the leaves and how we finally found fulfillment in each other's arms and the feel and taste of each other. There's nothing quite like it as I'm sure you both know."

There was a reverent hush in that brightly coloured room where subtle fragrances and shafts of sunlight illuminated the old woman's still bright eyes and dreamy expression on her face. Eventually, Nikki broke the silence in a voice laden with deep emotion.

"We know exactly what you mean, Margaret as Helen and I won't ever forget our first time together."

"You must think me shocking, an old woman talking like this," Margaret said in a sheepish voice. She had been transported back into the past and suddenly remembered who she thought she was, an elderly woman amongst these young women.

"No no, we don't. Everyone has the right to love in their lives. If we don't, we just die inside or turn nasty and bitter."

It was Nikki's pleading eyes and passionate words that saved the older woman. It occurred to her that experiences can transcend generations. After all, she was younger than these two charming woman when these most deep felt experiences were laid down in her very DNA structure. Nikki's words echoed her own deepest feelings. It occurred to Margaret that they really had everything in common. After all, the only differences were in their ages and how much did that really mean?

"You're right. You are both such darling women. I'm so glad you came to see me today," Margaret said, all her emotions pouring out from her. Even for her generation, that felt perfectly right. She was sure that everything was as it should be. She knew beyond doubt that her late partner, that very decisive and practical woman, would have instantly approved. She had that same boldness of thought about her.

"Believe me, the pleasure is totally ours. You've given us so much without you even being aware of it," Helen intervened, her arm resting on the other woman's shoulders. Margaret smiled upwards through her tears, as somehow her dear friends Nikki and Helen were just as much around in her past of hers and Julia's circle of friends as in the present. She ceased to question what felt right or wrong but opted for 'going with the flow', the only modern expression she actively liked.

"Shall we have another cup of tea?" she suggested brightly.

"Of course, Margaret," Helen's soothing motherly voice reassured her as the younger woman engaged with the bone china tea set and the ornamental teapot to observe the time honoured ritual which both modern women felt entirely comfortable with. That magic, timeless afternoon shifted to a new phase, which gently unrolled itself with no thought of limited time

*********

The two women finally went home from Margaret Winters' mansion in that rare heightened emotional and intellectual state, the moment of which long remains in the memory after the details become blurred by time. Helen took the wheel and drove in an unusually sedate fashion.

"That woman is where me and everyone else from Chix come from only I never knew it," breathed Nikki ecstatically. "I've read books but I've never really seen our past through my own eyes and feelings that there was a 'before' to the times I grew up in. I've seen Nineteen Fifties Ealing black and white films on television, with their husband and wife and two point four children. Let's face it, my family background was that type of background so I accepted it for real. I never knew that just as my parents were growing up, so were Margaret and Julia in their way."

"You know, it really got to me that in their dealings with the outside world, they had to pretend to be friends. They had their discreet social gatherings but there wasn't any club scene, nothing in the media. To all intents and purposes, they were invisible. I can't believe it…..," said Helen thoughtfully articulating the words as her thoughts swirled around inside her head.

"You see how far we've all come since then but that doesn't mean we have nothing to learn. Quite the opposite," Nikki smiled broadly at Helen's calm acceptance at the notion of 'coming out,' something which had once been such a fearful issue with her.

"Hey, watch the road," cut in Nikki as a car swept angrily past the front of them, as Helen had turned her head to smile in response to her. Helen's foolish grin told them both that she had edged onto a roundabout without giving way right. It also told them both that Helen's normal combativeness had dispersed in the presence of this overwhelming experience and that there were limits to her ability to multitask.

"Guess we'll continue the discussion when we get home," Helen answered in an abstracted fashion before both women fell quiet, each preoccupied with their own fast running interior movie until they got home.

"We simply must keep in contact with her," Helen said promptly. Her mind was flying a million miles an hour "She'd be such an inspiration to all the women we've got to know."

In the weeks since Nikki's release, the two women had immediately established the center of their social life at Chix. Helen immediately realized that a number of the women she had been introduced to had been in the visitor's gallery, which had given them an immediate point of entry. Trisha had made it clear to one and all that Helen was Nikki's girlfriend and her presence was immediately established. Such a sociable and sympathetic soul had easily entered the delicate social cobweb of social interrelations. As a relative newcomer, it gave her the perspective of what was needed. Nikki was not so sure however.

"I know what you mean, babes but can you imagine her coming to 'Chix' though?" Nikki said doubtfully.

"Can you imagine that she'd be a lesbian if you didn't know in advance?" Helen counter questioned triumphantly. "Appearances can be deceptive, you know. Take me for instance, the one time straight woman who was engaged to Sean and just look at me now."

"Don't get me wrong, darling, Margaret's such a sweetheart but she might not be keen on all the loud music and so on at the club. I guess she's more for tea on the terrace, which, curiously enough, I can relate to. She'd certainly take to the women and they to her. I'm just being practical. I guess I'm not sure."

Both women fell silent as Helen drifted into the kitchen to start peeling and slicing vegetables and Nikki companionably fitted around her. both women knew that they were thinking over each other's thoughts besides their own. A chunk of their home life centred on the kitchen, which was symptomatic of how much rapport there was between them. Helen remembered the extreme irritation she felt when Sean used to stroll around in his lordly way, paying her banal compliments on her cooking. He used to intrude in her space that Nikki was incapable of doing.

"Sweetheart, I get the feeling we've started something. We've both got the drive to take this further or we wouldn't feel so inspired. Have you any perspective of where this is running?"

"Search me," Nikki admitted with a wry smile." I guess this is half the fun of the situation."


	6. Chapter 6

Scene Six

Margaret Winters' blue eyes shone as brightly as any stars in the sky as she sat back in her favourite chair after Helen and Nikki had left. She felt a little tired but thoroughly exhilarated. She'd poured out the story of her life, which she felt had only existed in the deepest recesses of her mind. What gave her that glowing feeling inside and made her feel younger than her years were the two utterly charming and intelligent women. Her eyes had taken in each them and saw in them, the validation of her own drams. Helen's broad Scottish accent inflected all the facets of that warmly caring woman whose determination to live her life in a moral way. Likewise, Nikki's articulate Home Counties accent revealed a woman who aspired to a degree of learning and independence of thought that instinctively broke free from anything that would bind her down where there was no moral reason for it. She had quite openly described how her feelings of love had first flowered in the chilly formality of a girl's boarding school. Her own free spirit soared in sympathy with her as it reminded her of her of the faraway days of her own awakening. She had her tale to tell in the days when there simply wasn't the culture to sustain her. Now she came to look back on her life, she wondered how she had the strength to declare to herself her love for another woman, that she wasn't going to make the compromises that some of her friends had done and 'settle down' into marriage and deny her own identity. She had been way too stubborn and self-willed to ever conceive of such an option, even in the worst moments of being alone before she had met Julia.

Suddenly, the verbal picture she had painted to Helen and Nikki came back to her waking sight as they had had hung on her every word. The physical and emotional sensations were oh so clear of making love with Julia under the intensely blue skies of the isle of Lesbos. Long forgotten feelings swirled their way upwards to the top of her mind. She remembered only too well the stifling feel of English society that she and Julia returned to after their holidays and experienced every day as opposed to the contrasting energizing feel of being taken out of themselves while abroad. She looked around her living room and individual souvenirs, part of her long familiar landscape, took on individual significance. She could remember turning excitedly to Julia, her face flushed with pleasure, as they agreed that their mansion could nicely accommodate that particular item.

She contemplated Nikki and Helen with intense interest. Of course, they were modern women with that confidence and self-assurance, their expressions and their talk of their social life. On the other hand, they had a clear reverence for the right kind of tradition and asked such respectful and detailed questions of her life. Looking through their eyes, she could see her own life stand out in sharper relief by contrast much as she could picture their world. Of course, the club that they described played modern music, which seemed impossibly distant from her. In the context, which it was now presented, her difficulty in empathizing with it saddened her for a moment. What did finally lift her spirits was the image which was conveyed to her, of flashing lights amidst the darkness, an environment in which inhibitions could be hung up together with coats in the cloakroom and the prospect of elegantly dressed women swaying to the rhythms. If it meant that women could be brought together, then she could understand what Nikki and Helen were talking about. It was their other side of their deep understanding of her own literary world. Her eyes misted over at the thought and her lips smiled with pleasure.

As she sipped a cup of tea while the clear sunlight streamed into her room the love story she had heard reminded her of her past as much as it contrasted with it and yet it had deeply moved her. She couldn't conceive of being incarcerated away from her lover in such a militarist environment that denied the right to follow the promptings of her heart. That deep capacity to empathize could follow Helen's own struggles to be free of her past even though she wore the keys to the cells and Nikki's own inner freedom as opposed to a regime that denied hr her proper humanity. She couldn't conceive of living the nightmare of Helen's freedom to walk in and out of the gates of Larkhall Prison leaving her lover confined to her bare solitary cell. The fact that these two women had survived these psychic assaults and had come out the other side was a tonic to her own spirits and a challenge to do something about her own life. It was time for her to live in the present as she had once done.

But what to do, the dreaded voice called out to her? This was what she had been afraid of. She was highly conscious how her dear friends from her own generation had fallen by the wayside. She couldn't dare to go to Chix herself as it wasn't her style, her age group and would only remind her painfully of the youth that she had lost. She would feel like an alien. It was this fear that had prompted her to live in the past in a dream state. The past was much more comforting**. **It was that devastating thought that sent her into a depression for the next few hours as she sat in the sunlit room when clouds of darkness enveloped her. What made her feel worse was that she had never discussed with them the idea she had had for her will. While she had lived so intensely in the present with these two charming young women, talking about her will seemed morbid and somehow not right. She bitterly regretted that lost opportunity as much as any in her past. It went against her nature. In her state of depression, she clearly felt that it was as well that Nikki and Helen never saw her like this. On the contrary, visitors saw her at her best because when callers saw her, they made her be at her best.

It was only the whispered voice in her ear of Julia who lovingly urged her to buck herself up as she had done on occasions in her past. After all, Finally Margaret wiped away her tears with an embroidered handkerchief. She stood up on her two feet and walked around her mansion to gain emotional sustenance from the tangible accomplishments of her life. It reminded her of her book collection and prompted her to reread a book that had come to mind. Finally, she looked at the portrait picture and, rather than reminding her of the passing years since it was painted, it prompted her of the passing mischievous instinct to send her loathsome niece a postcard of the painting. Not only had it perked her up but it had unleashed such combined amusement to the righteous and justified humiliation of her niece. That was something that she had, herself accomplished and had played its part in bringing Helen and Nikki back into her life.

It was now that the thought crossed her mind of Julia's own favourite saying, that a problem need not be necessarily approached directly. The impossible to climb mountain could be scaled by indirect approach or so she had learned when she and Julia had driven off to climb that perfect pyramid shape of Thorpe Cloud, in the Derbyshire Dales. What a feeling of triumph she had felt as she had stood on the very summit, tired and sweating with Julia's supporting arm round her. Now she knew what she had to do.

**********

"I've got it," Nikki exclaimed triumphantly out of nowhere to the saucepan as she busied herself in cooking dinner for two." I know what we have to do next."

The look of pure puzzlement on Helen's features, especially the raised eyebrows was eloquent answer enough and made Nikki laugh out loud as she vigorously stirred away with her favourite wooden spoon.

"John Deed, yeh? The guy who pulled the bunny out of the hat in getting the Home Office minister to change his mind about my appeal. We ought to go see him and thank him bigtime for everything he's done for us."

"What about Margaret, Nikki?" Helen lectured the taller woman sternly." What you're saying is a great idea but we promised to keep in contact with her. We have to be disciplined in seeing through our ideas."

Nikki grinned foolishly at the other woman. She knew that Helen was perfectly right but the truth was that, even weeks after getting her freedom, ideas were still exploding out of her head as compensation for three years of regimented prison existence.

"Yeah, yeah, Helen. I guess you're right. Even now, I still have these mad ideas coming to me. I can't help it."

"Since when did I say I wanted you to stop having ideas?" Helen pursued in a softer tone of voice that made Nikki feel all tender inside." I'm just asking you how do we combine socializing with a very heterosexual male judge and an exclusively gay woman whose only resemblance to each other is that they are both older than us and have their own distinct ideas of freedom?"

"I hadn't thought in those terms, Helen," Nikki said very slowly. She automatically turned the gas ring off and turned round to face Helen so that she could devote her full attention to the idea. She hadn't considered the idea of a meeting of both of them at the same time. It was just her active imagination firing off ideas at random. "You've talked with John more than I have. From what you say, he's a great conversationalist and we know that so is Margaret."

"Yeah but he's so straight," Helen pursued doubtfully." I mean, don't get me wrong as I really respect the man. I have my doubts that it would work."

"Helen," Nikki said firmly once she'd got her mind to get into a more focused purposeful gear. "From what you've said of meeting John, he had thoughts of getting off with you until you straightened out this thinking, right?"

"Yes," grinned Helen, pleased at the matter of fact way she had perceived the nuances of her storytelling and the droll way her partner had unconsciously rounded off her reply.

"So when he agreed to help us out, he cannot have acted unless it was out of a genuine belief in justice and with no ulterior motive. From my brief meeting with him, the guy is for real."

"So where's this heading?" asked Helen in puzzled tones.

'Either he'll agree to come or he won't," pronounced Nikki with cast iron logic." If he does agree, he'll be doing it for the best reasons. Margaret might go for it once she hears what he did for us."

"Hmm," murmured Helen as she mulled things over in her mind." So who's going to do the persuading? It might not be as easy as you think."

"Both of us, darling. You don't think that I'm going to cop out of this one," Nikki said in her best seductive tones as she reached forward and slipped her arms round Helen.

********

Still halfway between the present and past, it took Margaret a few seconds to respond to the persistent shrilling of the phone while the woman at the other end of the phone fidgeted and tut-tutted for a response.

"Margaret Winters, here," she said automatically.

"Dear Auntie Margaret," that repellant voice spoke in nauseatingly ingratiating tones." I wanted so much to get in contact with you. Too many years have passed by without much contact between us. You know how it is - you spend your whole life slaving away and you don't get the time for people as you should."

"I must admit I'm surprised to hear from you, Sylvia. Still, I'm not one for harbouring any resentments. Life is too short…………so what are you proposing," Margaret heard herself saying, much to her own incredulity.

"I didn't want to beat about the bush so what say you come over to my place?" the voice carried on unceasingly as her niece started to babble on about arrangements. Margaret's breathing started to become very sharp and shallow and she really didn't feel very well at all.

"I suppose I'll be introduced to your husband, Robert isn't it," she said in her best Formal Drawing Room manner.

"Bobby'll give you a lift over in the hearse but he has to pop out on business. You know how busy he is," Bodybag pursued in her ingratiating tones.

"I'll be ready to be picked up," Margaret said in faint tones before, to her infinite relief, Bodybag announced that she had to dash.

Margaret sat back in her chair for a long while after that conversation drinking a much-needed cup of tea. After she had calmed down, her first instinct was to phone up Nikki and Helen. She desperately needed the right kind of contact with the outside world, someone to bounce ideas off.

******

"I'm not sure what my advice is worth as Sylvia and I have been on the worst possible terms," Helen started to say slowly as the full impact of the verbal bombshell hit her.

"That's a recommendation, Helen," Margaret said with surprising mental agility.

"Rather you than me, Margaret," came Helen's final verdict after talking in those infinitely warm down to earth tones down the other end of the phone that relaxed the older woman and firmed up her ideas." If you decide to go, my feeling is that I'm sure she's after something. Hold on, Nikki wants a word with you."

"Make sure you have means of escape, Margaret and don't sign any agreement or make any promises," Nikki cut in." Whatever you decide, we'll be with you."

The older woman sank back with feelings of relief in hearing those few kind sincere words after the nauseating flood of insincerities, especially after her practical joke. Memories of the long estrangement roused her anger and mingled with nervousness in asking a favour of her friends.

"I would hate to impose on you but if I have any trouble at my niece's and I have to escape, could I possibly phone you up if I need a lift back home."

"Of course, Margaret. That's what we had in mind," came Nikki's infinitely reassuring voice. Those few simple words made Margaret feel safe and secure and immensely grateful. She would venture out and confront the homophobic beasts in their lair after all.


	7. Chapter 7

SCENE SEVEN"Do we have to, Sylv?" Bobby Hollamby complained in his slow grating fashion as he drove the large conspicuous hearse gingerly, carefully watching out for teenage hooligans tear-arsing around the roads of Britain. Throughout his marriage to Sylvia, she'd only made passing references to her lesbian aunt as, in some peculiar fashion, it reflected on her family's upbringing. It was on thing for his Sylvia to mouth off about 'do gooders' and those lesbian prisoners who seemed to take it for granted to have their conjugal rights in a nice convenient twin cell. It was quite another thing for it to come nearer home. Yet his Sylvia was possessed of this mad idea to somehow inveigle her aunt to leave her money to them. It was a nice idea if only she hadn't frozen off any contact with this shadowy figure for as long as she had known Sylv. "You're always complaining that one man bands like ours are struggling against these modern cut price outfits. We need some reassurance for our old age beyond my pension when I collect it. We need to make certain that the boat will come in." "But who else can the old bat leave her money to? It's not as if there's some national lesbian charity."

"As far as you know," snapped Bodybag. Her nerves were wound up tight and the last thing she needed was her Bobby being a wet blanket." Watch where you're driving, Bobby. You're far too close to that parked car."

"I saw it a mile away. Typical back seat drivers," he retorted contemptuously at his wife. After all, he was in charge

******

Meanwhile, Margaret was doing a final readjustment of her clothes in a perfect twitter of nervousness. What had she let herself in for, she wondered? For one moment, she had let herself be drawn into a social event, not because she wanted to but because she unconsciously felt that she ought to. In other words, she had broken her oldest rule in conforming to society's expectations, especially as her niece's approach to her was transparently false and insincere. What point was this meeting, she questioned herself. She had to admit that the only answer was that somehow, even at this late state in the day, they could mend their relationship. Well meaning but foolishly optimistic, she answered herself, as she recalled how narrow minded her niece and her sister both were. A chip off the old block came to mind. So if there was an attempt to mend fences, it would be down to her and nobody else. She gained a faint feeling of satisfaction as she realized that as she dug down into her feelings, she could face what she was finding. It was in this introspective mood that she realized that she had never set foot in her niece's house. So it was the fear of the unknown that was the trouble. Very well, she would just have to face it. It was this frame of mind that determined her that she wasn't going to worry about her appearance, that at least she would dress to please herself and no one else. She glanced at the bedside clock and realized that she had just enough time to drink her morning cup of tea. Everything was on time, including her readiness to face the day. Dead on the appointed hour, the imperious knock on her door announced the arrival of Sylvia and her Bobby. One glance at them told Margaret that, behind their false smiles, she was no more scared of them as they were of her. In that moment, the victory was already won. From Margaret's first horrified glance at the ominous black shape of the family hearse, she had expected to feel totally weird in being driven along in it. Paradoxically, it roused in her that native determination which had seen her through life. 'I'm not dead yet,' she mouthed to herself as Sylvia attempted to engage her in some banal conversation and part of her consciousness made the appropriate replies. The whole thing began to take shape as a black comedy, the sort that she'd seen at an old time cinema. In this vein of thinking, she smiled at herself to realize that Sylvia's house was everything that she might have expected of her. The original front garden had been obviously tarmaced over to accommodate the hearse. Its nineteen thirties appearance was thoroughly suburban in all its ordinariness, every house in the row conforming to its neighbour and vice versa. After all, that was how social conformity operated, as an external observer like herself could perceive so clearly. "This is our cozy nest," Sylvia gushed as she spread her arm."This is where we brought up Gayle, Constance and little Bobby Darren. Come in and I'll show you the family photographs."

Margaret sighed. She might have expected this. In no time at all, she was whisked inside the house, which immediately conveyed a sense of chill. In the mini guided tour past insignificant pictures and the modern kitchen area, they came to the large living room cum dining room. As a singleton, Margaret's allotted place was the armchair while Sylvia and Bobby occupied the settee, which overlooked the length of the room.

The older woman believed that books and pictures told her a lot about the inhabitants. and the sheer absence of books said everything. So did the contrasting wide screen TV. In all, the house was every bit as repellent as she might have expected.

"You're looking at the pictures of my children, I suppose," Sylvia mistakenly said in tones of obvious pride. "They're still living at home or am I making a mistake?" "They've all left home, even little Bobby Darren who's sharing a flat with a pal of his. Apple of my eye."

"You've always spoiled him," grumbled Bobby while Sylvia carried on oblivious." Constance and Gayle are happily married and Constance has two children…………."

Margaret politely sat through the one sided conversation of the story of Sylvia's life until she darted off to attend to the cooking. After that, trying to hold down a conversation with Bobby was much heavier going, as she had none of the other person's prattle to hide behind. Part of the older woman's mind drifted away into the distance as she longed for just a few minutes priceless conversation with Helen and Nikki. Finally, Bobby did the predictable and regaled her with dry as dust details of his undertaking business. All the time, she wondered why on earth neither of them tried to engage her in conversation about her life. It was only when she received the command to sit down for dinner that she realized that it was precisely what they didn't want to hear, that her scandalous behaviour would shock their sensibilities.Her heightened sensibilities registered how Bobby stood slowly and repeatedly sharpening his carving knife. The man was after all, only fulfilling his role in dissecting the pork joint while Sylvia nervously scuttled round serving the traditional roast potatoes and veg and pouring the gravy. It had a curiously reassuring effect on Margaret remembering how she and Julia lived their daily lives. Her mental movie camera whirred onwards, preserving these details for posterity as she sipped her wine. By then, she had got as acclimatized to the false smiles and banal conversation as she ever would be.

"How's your health these days, Margaret,' Sylvia asked unexpectedly after swallowing a mouthful of pork and roast potato.

"Not too bad, thank you. I still manage to get out into my back garden."

"Everyone gets these aches and pains as you get middle aged," observed Bobby gloomily.

"I've been lucky. I traveled a great deal in my younger days. I've always taken a reasonable amount of exercise."

"Golf," pronounced Bobby approvingly." There's nothing like driving a golf ball down the fairway with a good wooden driver and chipping it onto the green with an iron."

"I had a lot of help that way from my partner," Margaret said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She stopped short of saying that nothing beat horizontal exercise for that sense of physical and emotional well-being.

"Still none of us are getting any younger. Bobby and I pride ourselves in being forward looking, in providing for the future rather than leaving everything in chaos for relatives to sort out. If it's properly attended to at the time, it gives everyone real peace and mind. You can think that you've done your best for your family and it can settle your mind."

Margaret put her knife and fork down on her half empty plate. A sickening feeling started to invade her system as she saw Sylvia at last showing her hand.

"Are you really telling me that all this was designed to soften me up so that I could be persuaded to leave all my money to you,"

"Come come, Margaret," exclaimed Bobby. "You have to be realistic. Who else is there to leave your money to? You haven't got any family and all your friends have died out."

"I might leave my money to charity for all you know."

"Margaret, charity begins at home. It's the way of the world."

There it was. Two deadly conformist proverbs in one go, the last the most hated of all. Didn't this obtuse woman realize that she'd spent a lifetime fighting the 'way of the world' for all she was worth? Wasn't there still a need to fight it? In one second, she felt much younger than Sylvia and as contemporary with Nikki and Helen as never before. It was a dizzying realization. Instinctively, she knew what she must do.

"I think I have to leave now. I don't feel I can stay in this house one moment more."

"You don't think we're taking you anywhere. In any case, my Bobby hasn't finished his dinner," a red faced Sylvia protested in an effort to assert herself before this older and presumably weaker woman. She never made a bigger mistake, confusing politeness with weakness.

"I'm not asking you to, Sylvia. All I need is to borrow your phone and leave the rest to me," Margaret insisted with steely firmness. In the tense grudgingly silent assent, Margaret got to her feet and reached for the phone.

"Hi there, Margaret," that pleasant Scottish voice greeted her. Instantly, the older woman exhaled out the tension in her body. This was deliverance.

"Thank God you're in, Helen. I need that lift urgently. I'll give you the address……..."

Behind her, Sylvia and Bobby fumed in volcanic anger as they saw their hoped for prize slip through their outstretched fingers. They were particularly angry that this difficult woman had rejected all their efforts, the way they had put themselves out. They raised their eyebrows at the older woman's obviously affectionate tone of voice. Who on earth was this Helen?

"I suppose you'll be getting back to your lesbian friends. I didn't suppose you had any left, not at your age," Sylvia said in tones of sneering rage." It's disgusting, a woman of your age should be setting an example. I've spent a lifetime, protecting my children from your influence."

"You don't really think we're going to meet again in my lifetime. Let's face it, it's a long time since we've last met. I'm not one for keeping up appearances. You should know that, Sylvia."

The younger woman coloured at Margaret's sharp verbal thrust and the sharp look that accompanied it. Margaret smiled in response, reflecting on the fact that she had always run rungs round her sister and Sylvia was a chip off the old block in this respect as well.

********

In the meantime, Nikki and Helen tore out of their flat and into the Peugeot, alarmed by the obvious cry of help. As they whizzed through the streets, both women wondered what sort of reception they would get, fully realizing that the last thing Bodybag expected was that they were friends with her aunt.

"We'll not beat about the bush, Nikki," Helen said in determined tones." We go straight in and out. Let's face it, we're both very unlikely to be offered a cup of tea."

"More like tea and arsenic," observed Nikki dryly which made Helen grin. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it as always, especially with Margaret on side."

Sure enough, they found the house and both women weren't the least surprised at their destination. The house seemed typical Sylvia, thought Helen. The two women strode down the drive and rapped smartly on the black door knocker. After a moment, the green door swung back and Bodybag appeared. She seemed to swell up like a balloon and turned red with rage.

"You," she exclaimed venomously." What on earth are you both doing here?"

"Because Margaret phoned us," Nikki retorted coolly and smartly, taking control of the situation in a flash. Nikki was delighted to see that their assumption of familiarity with their friend further infuriated their enemy."Seeing that you're hardly likely to welcome us in, I suggest we pick up Margaret as soon as possible and leave you in peace."

"I'm ready," called out the older woman from behind Bodybag. Nikki and Helen were amused to see how agitated their presence was making Bodybag. They noticed that there was nothing wrong with the older woman's walking as she exited the house.

"Darlings, I can't wait to escape," she added cheekily to Nikki and Helen, a big smile of relief on her face before turning to her niece." Sylvia I'm so glad you enjoyed the copy of my painting."

Helen whistled admiringly under her breath at Margaret's one two verbal punch technique. Even Nikki flinched slightly at the way Margaret deliberately provoked Bodybag. In all the time Nikki had known that battleaxe, she'd never gone that far. Meanwhile, Margaret emerged from the dark shadows into the bright sunshine feeling like a million dollars.


	8. Chapter 8

**SCENE EIGHT**

Scene Four

"Go, Helen, go. Let's get out of here," Nikki called out to Helen from the back seat, Margaret sitting next to her.

Helen slid the car into gear and revved off down the road, one eye on the mirror. All three of them had that desperate urge to put space between themselves and the house they had just left. The car shot away down the road, jerking the three of them in their seats.

"I'm sorry about my driving. Margaret," Helen called out as the car tore round the corner and was out of sight from the house.

"After enduring hours of my niece's loathsome company, not to say her 'Bobby'", Margaret replied warmly, slipping briefly into a parody of Bodybag,"I'm only too grateful in being whisked away as quickly as possible."

The other two women laughed at their friend's droll humour and her razor sharp talent for observation. An atmosphere of light hearted hilarity swept over the three of them as Helen sped them onwards. This was after all, how freedom tasted.

******

In the following weeks, Helen and Nikki continued to evolve their lifestyle that had started from the moment of Nikki's release. Both of them were working and it meant that they made sure that they made the most of their precious leisure hours. At the center of it was their social life at 'Chix' but every so often, they visited Margaret and their suddenly blossoming friendship gained depth and colour. All the same, Nikki had the feeling that there was something that the older woman was holding back, no matter how brightly conversational she was.

"So how do you track down a high court judge?" Nikki mused to herself at the dining room table as she fiddled with the biro in her hands." After all, you don't get to meet them down the local pub."

"You've got me there, Nik," answered Trisha grinning at her old friend's unique sense of humour."That's way outside my experience- at least out of choice."

"What about asking at the Old Bailey?" contributed Helen from the other side of the table. Seeing her partner flinch in horror, Helen carried on rapidly talking.

"I know you, Nikki. You've got this superstitious streak in you…….."

"I have not,"the taller woman started to protest furiously.

"Let me rephrase it. You're as rational and down to earth as anyone I'm met but you have this fear that, once you bring the Old Bailey back into your life, something dreadful will happen to you that'll get you put away. I can understand that as I feel a bit the same. There's no logical reason for you and I to think that way but since when sometimes are these deep-seated emotions rational? At the same time, you know that you don't have to worry about the place any more. You're an ordinary member of the public with the perfect right to get proper customer service the same as anyone else."

"Helen's right, you know," added Trisha. "You can't be arrested in asking to talk to a judge. The worst that can possibly happen is that they aren't able to help you. You've nothing to lose."

The combined weight of arguments finally connected. Nikki shut up and breathed in and out, the tension gradually leaving her body. She knew that Helen had put her finger on her fears and that the other two women had the sense to wait for her to assimilate these points of view.

"All right," she said at last, smiling gratefully at the other two. "It seems the obvious place to start. I've got sod all out of the rest of my researches."

"That's more like it. Another coffee?" offered Helen brightly.

*********

_This is it_, muttered Nikki to herself. _I might have known that, by opening my big mouth on the topic, that_ _I had therefore nominated myself to scout out the ground to locate John Deed._ The image in her mind of Helen's winning smile as she persuaded her to undertake this expedition reminded her yet again that she is a total softie at heart no matter how tough she could appear on the surface. _So be it, _she laughed to herself, _the worst that could happen was that a security guy would sling her out. _

Finally, she ceased pacing back and forth along the forbidding edifice that towered over her and she headed for the general entrance. She hadn't prepared for the emotional reality of being in new territory and going through a new experience. The last time she'd entered the building was through an anonymous back entrance a policeman either side of her after a police wagon had taken her through into the courtyard for that hatefully unjust sentence to be read out to her. Her most recent court appearance was at the Court of Appeals in the Strand where she had been taken into the dock with Fenner one side of her and Di Barker. On that occasion, she had no control over her movements but on the other hand, she had been certainly and surely taken to appear before three judges set up on high in their thrones with only Marian Chambers, Claire walker and Sally Anne Howe to speak up for her.

When she found her bearings, she was mightily relieved that there were no particular restrictions. With a curious sense of detachment, she revelled in the way that she could wander round the building. What she was highly conscious of was that there did not be a sympathetic soul whom she could safely approach. She was hypersensitive to every nuance of every court official and none of them felt right to approach. Her eyes flitted in every direction as she fiddled nervously with the button of her best suit jacket.

_John Deed's personal assistant, Rita Cooper, better known as Coope, was a comfortably middle waged woman whose duties took her into court from time to time when she wasn't busy with her duties in the judge's chamber, including discreetly arranging with her contacts in the listings offices suitable cases for John Deed to dispense justice. Another of her self-imposed duties was to keep a wary eye on the assorted attractive women who came to his chambers for other than professional reasons. It necessitated keeping up with his complex love life and she freely dispensed clear 'non advice' that 'it was not for her to say' as to the judge's choice when her faintly disapproving gaze made her point of view obvious. It was in this mood that a tall attractive woman with distinctively cropped hair approached her and Coope employed her natural courtesy to greet her. Coope's impression was that she was a relative stranger to these parts. _

"Excuse me," Nikki finally asked the one woman whom she felt was approachable." I'm ever so sorry to trouble you but I wondered if it would be possible to talk to a judge here, John Deed."

"Is this reason business or personal?" she counter questioned in a voice that wasn't unsympathetic. _Coope decided to get to the bottom of the matter, feeling guarded sympathy for this woman's plight_

"A bit of both really," Nikki said in flustered tones. _Coope mentally raised her _

_eyebrows as something told her that this wasn't some distressed ex girlfriend of the judge's but was more complex_

"Do you want to talk in a private room?" she offered. _Nikki's grateful smile of sheer relief was obvious to her and Coope warmed to this woman, guided by instinct alone._

"I'd be incredibly grateful," Nikki said effusively, being granted her first temporary opening of the machinery of justice. She followed Coope into an anteroom and took a seat. She launched into a preamble without any fancy preliminaries, as was her habit.

"I'm Nikki Wade and I was recently granted my freedom at the Court of Appeal after being sentenced for life for taking out the policeman who was on the point of raping my then girlfriend so I'm not wanting to behave in an irregular fashion in asking John to intervene in an impending court case. John was very kind when Helen, my present partner got talking to him over a drink at a conference on 'Crime and Punishment.' He very kindly intervened in ensuring that the Home Secretary granted me leave to appeal the sentence………."

_Coope's mouth opened in astonishment and her sympathies came flooding to the surface, surface, now that she knew everything. She put two and two together very rapidly. First, she recalled the court case straightaway and then she vividly remembered the judge recently talking about Helen Stewart in very admiring respectful tones. This very presentable woman also made an immediately favourable impression on her. Her alert mind needed to clear up one or two questions first._

"Did your partner make it clear to the judge that she had a personal interest in your case?"

Nikki was growing more and more confident as this woman was clearly one of the good ones, very kind and sympathetic. She felt all the more secure because she was speaking the plain and unvarnished truth.

"Helen made her sexuality and her interest in me perfectly clear. She had the feeling that he was attracted to her but he was as good as his word and helped out for disinterested reasons. We want to see him and thank him personally because, well, it's the least we can do."

_As Coope's best friend in the army had been raped and had never got over it, she immediately resolved to bend over backward to help this woman. True, it wasn't normal procedure but since when had the judge set her an example in being a Jobsworth? What was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. _

"I'd be delighted to help, Nikki," she said. "Let me phone him up and make quite sure. I'm the judge's personal assistant and I know for a fact that he has plenty of spare time."

Nikki felt secure in letting this formidably perceptive woman sort things out. It made her feel good that there were organizations that didn't work in the incompetent and corrupt fashion that Larkhall Prison was notorious for with honourable exceptions. Coope's face brightened as she put the phone down.

"You follow me and I'll escort you to his chambers," she said exuding confidence.

"I'm not putting you out, am I? I won't get you into trouble," Nikki enquired with a touching sense of consideration.

"Leave it to me, Nikki," Coope said, smiling broadly in a way that made Nikki warm to her. In turn, Coope was touched by Nikki's thoughtfulness. The dark-haired woman saw the very understanding and sympathetic woman behind the smart suit and recognized another quiet rebel behind her smooth ways.

***********

Nikki was ushered through a grand court, with that strange silence of an empty theatre, up the steps past the judge's throne and into a corridor with pictures of past judges and into the comfortably appointed chamber, complete with an antique three-piece suit. In the corner, the judge's robes were draped on a coat rack. John Deed sat behind his desk, dressed in a smart black suit and called out to her in pleasant tones.

"Nikki, I'm delighted to see you again. As you might know, Coope has explained the purpose of your visit. Do you want a drink?"

At this moment, Nikki's mind temporarily froze. She had been so psyched up with getting through the barriers to reach John that her mind was temporarily blank. Finally, she stammered out a request for a glass of wine while John and Coope both felt affectionate sympathy for this remarkable woman who genuinely couldn't see that they admired her fortitude in struggling through to the landmark appeal judgment. Finally, Nikki's mind cleared and she started to chatter away in the same way as anyone else she had ever known that she could relate to. The atmosphere felt right and that was all that mattered.


	9. Chapter 9

**SCENE NINE**

"You know, I've handed down sentences with some conception that the punishment fitted the crime or else or else had the chance of showing mercy in setting men and women free. I've never stopped to think what might actually go on inside prison," John said in a meditative tone of voice, his eyes opened wide by Helen and Nikki's accounts of the grim lunacy that was prison life. In turn, the two women were painfully conscious of how detached John had been from the grim reality of prison life but gave the guy full marks for really trying to understand.

John reclined in a metal chair in an open-air café, while a soft breeze ruffled his hair slightly. He, Nikki and Helen were gathered round a table, enjoying a pleasant drink and still more enjoyable company. Everything felt marvellously free from awkwardness and barriers to understanding. As all three of them suspected in advance, the act of Helen and Nikki thanking him for his intervention in the appeal was the prelude to them getting to know each other better from a mutual curiosity in each other, a meeting of minds.

"I might have known. What brings you here, Ian together with your chief bag carrier, Lawrence James," John suddenly called out in languid tones to the tight-faced man who approached them. He was accompanied by a still more smartly suited black man, who trailed slightly behind and revealed their imbalance of status. John's lack of respect for the pair of them was obvious to the two women.

"Isn't it marvellous, the way that your female company changes by the day," Sir Ian said in spiteful tones. John burst into hearty laughter at the absurd misconception, joined by Nikki and Helen. His burst of unrestrained unafraid emotion endeared itself to the two women.

"I think you have got the wrong end of the stick. Permit me to introduce my friends, Nikki Wade and her equally charming partner," John retorted in amused tones.

"Partner? In what way? Some radical solicitor friends of yours," Sir Ian asked in suspicious tones, squinting at the two women as if to preserve their image in his memory banks.

"In the sexual sense. They're lesbians," John said bluntly after an exchange of glances with his friends. "I was enjoying a very friendly intelligent conversation with them until you two butted in. You may as well go away and call off the sniffer dogs of the LCD and find something else with which to exercise your squalid imaginations."

"I'm not staying to continue this unseemly scene," came the tight voiced reply as Sir Ian turned red in the face with embarrassment.

"Just who are these guys? Are those Neanderthals for real?" Nikki asked, her brow furrowed in wonder and Helen laughed at her partner's blunt way of expressing herself.

"Those two are top civil servants in the Lord Chancellor's Department. I have a lifelong enmity with them as they seek to shackle the operation of a free thinking judiciary. You might think that they are deeply concerned about my morals," John replied with elaborate irony and a half-smile on his face," but in reality, they are searching for a scandal with which they can bring me down."

The two women gazed at John with puzzled expressions on their faces. It was taking them an unusually long time to get to the bottom of the situation and, behind his sophisticated exterior, the penetrating honesty of these two women were starting to make John feel uncomfortable. Eventually, Nikki broke the silence.

"It's your life, John, after all and we wouldn't want to interfere. I've been single and fancy free in the past but I don't mind admitting that I'm an open romantic and always have been."

"You're lucky," John said dryly with a lurking sense of envy.

"Anyway, it's no reason for those bastards to hound you. It's bound to be for the worst of reasons. What's important is that Helen and I relate to the side of you that's about justice, perhaps more strongly than you might think."

"Do you know, you sound awfully like Coope,"John said, the same enigmatic half smile on his face. While he appreciated Nikki's supportiveness and delicacy of touch, her underlying criticism hit a painful spot.

"Well, there you are. You should take notice," retorted Nikki. Helen frowned at the awkward silence that hung upon the air. She knew very well from the conference she had shared with John what a womanizer he was.

"Let's change the subject," she intervened. "You tell us what's your favourite TV programme?" At once, a broad grin spread over John's face as he started to talk in a more animated fashion.

"I have an unashamed weakness for old fashioned black and white westerns. You know, where the man in the white hat challenged the villain wearing the black hat to a duel on main street at high noon……….."

Nikki and Helen smiled fondly at John's choice. John was such a guy but both could tell that this deep influence on him was definitely for the good.

***********

It was a few days later that Margaret came round to Nikki and Helen's flat for the first time. She followed Helen up the front steps and waited as the younger woman let the three of them in. Beyond the functional front hall, Margaret's eyes opened wide as she took in the lovely colours and comfortable surroundings of the living room. It had that homelike feel about it. In particular, she zeroed in on the well-thumbed books stacked in what was obviously the two women's communal library.

"Might I look at your marvelous book collection?" she asked.

"By all means take a look, Margaret," Nikki offered in her easy going tones." That's the first thing I did when we cam to your house. I do it everywhere I go."

"And me also," added Helen prettily, not wanting to be outdone.

The older woman laughed sympathetically at what was an old habit of her own. She ran her eyes appreciatively over the shelves, a wide smile on her face. She was amazed to see an impressive spread of novelists and poets, solidly based in the Victorian age or so and meandering in an individual path up towards the present. There were a number of books she hadn't heard of but she was sure that was only because she hadn't been steered in their direction.

"I approve of your flat if you don't mind me saying so. It feels comfortable and civilized," Margaret said with a directness that sounded curiously modern.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Helen asked in ultra polite tones that made the older woman smile. "I'm afraid that we can't match your tasteful bone china."

"I'm happy to take it as it comes," Margaret answered. She was starting to feel that she lived in an existence that harked back to one of her old friend's flats and was nicely placed in the here and now. Wherever she was now, she felt emotionally safe as she took in the rich, bold yet tasteful colours. Soon, Helen came back out of the kitchen with a tea tray and a biscuit bowl. She drank from the fairly utilitarian cup and declared it perfect. This unblocked the easy flow of conversation until the older woman finally felt emboldened to get to the point.

"As it happens, I did want to discuss one matter with both of you. It's something that's been on my mind for some time. I want to talk to you both about making my will."

"Margaret, no," Helen said, her mouth open and her voice raised in horror. The word had a very dread finality and roused in her primal fears of the trauma of her own mother's long ago death, reinforced by the not so long ago agonies of Monica Lindsay throwing herself into the ugly hole in the ground in which her son's coffin lay. She exchanged glances with Nikki whose white face felt the smaller woman's emotions. Margaret knew very well what her younger friends were thinking but spoke out with firm yet not unkind authority over them.

"Nikki, Helen, our friendship has blossomed very quickly and it has been so marvellous for so many reasons. More than anything else, we have never talked about the age gap between us. When I think of you, I feel that all the dear friends of my past are reincarnated in you," and here the older woman's firm voice shook with a profound emotion as she dabbed her habitual lace handkerchief to her eyes. The two younger women felt their friend's anguish wash over them and each laid a comforting hand on her shoulders. Margaret smiled gratefully up on them for their understanding.

"We can't, Margaret," Nikki interjected.

"Believe it or not, I'm seventy eight years old…"

"Bodybag has always sounded far older than you," Nikki replied. Despite the touch of humour in her voice, she meant every word she said. Margaret knew it. She summoned up every ounce of forcefulness within her as her knowledge gave her the greater strength than her two friends.

"Mentally, I'm still holding my own and physically I'm not incapable but the truth is that every single friend, every one of my contemporaries, my long time partner Julia is dead. I'm the only one left. You must understand that I have to plan for the inevitable and, once it is laid to rest, I'll feel free to live my life the best way I can with whatever years I have are left. That will be easier as your friendship has brought me back to life, back to the present and I have never felt so positive as now. "

Both women exchanged glances and acceded to the older woman who spoke with that sense of authority that is born of accumulated wisdom.

"I intend to leave my niece a quarter of my savings but the rest including my house and everything in it I am leaving to you," the older woman pronounced with crisp certainty.

"You couldn't. I mean we've only got to know each other recently," stammered Helen. Neither woman could believe her ears. This came as a bolt out of the blue.

"You think that really matters? I've known my niece a lifetime and do you really think that there's the slightest affinity between us?" pursued the older woman.

"We mean that we couldn't possibly take your money," Nikki said, feeling thoroughly guilt-ridden.

"Why not think of it as acting as trustees for my spirit existence? Who better than you? You think it over. My niece is my only surviving relative. Do you really imagine that she and her loathsome husband could be entrusted with it? They'd sell off all my valuable possessions to some crooked art dealer at a fraction of their worth for easy money, and go on some tasteless cruise with the biggest bores that I've spent my life escaping from."

The shrewd twinkle in the older woman's eyes and her force of personality finally started to sink through. Nikki and Helen began to see that because they had behaved without thought for personal gain, that the will was somehow conceivable.

"As you said, we'll help make the best of your life while you're here Margaret," Helen said very carefully, trying to smile to lighten the tone of her words. At once the tension started to ease and the older woman smiled freely. A burden had been lifted from her shoulders and somehow her mood shifted as sudden sunlight shining on a mountain lake.

"They say you're as young as you feel," Margaret said gaily." I've got time yet to enjoy my life. You just see what I can do."

"Like very mischievously sending Bodybag the postcard of that very seductive portrait. That gave the girls in Larkhall the biggest laugh for ages," Nikki said, laughing

"It's all very well for you, Nikki Wade. You got all the fun. I was stuck with being bloody Wing Governor and pretending to be businesslike," Helen scolded with mock seriousness, before breaking into loud laughter at the memory. This swept all three women along into a river of a buoyant, free-floating mood that made everything worthwhile.

*******

Later on that evening, a slightly tipsy Margaret was in a reminiscent mood about the soirees of her past, she could think about it without a sense of loss. The pleasure of the present kept her feeling mellow and at peace with herself.

"I know," Helen exclaimed, the light of inspiration in her eyes as she faced the older woman." Why don't we organize a soiree for you? Some party food, interesting people, great conversation."

That got the ideas flowing and suggestions fell out of their collective imaginations. The date was fixed, the catering was sorted and they were throwing around names of prospective guests until there was an awkward moment when Nikki mentioned John's name.

"Would he really be interested in socializing with a crowd full of lesbians?" Margaret questioned, a doubtful expression in her voice.

"Helen and I have hung out with him and he's a great guy, an excellent conversationalist. He has a total commitment to justice and his contempt for stuck up petty authority figures is even greater than mine," Nikki insisted.

"I can vouch for his views on justice from a conference on 'Crime and Punishment' where I first met him. He knows Nikki and I are partners but he helped us out in getting the Home Secretary to grant Nikki's appeal. The man is genuine, Margaret, I can assure you," echoed Helen.

Margaret listened carefully to her friends' pleadings and gave in to them, trusting to their judgment. Both women smiled eagerly, getting excited already about the forthcoming treat. This felt like all those impending Christmas days all those years ago and the older woman was picking up on this surge of emotion.


	10. Chapter 10

**SCENE TEN**

"Tell me, Nikki." Helen said, addressing her partner's reflection in the bedroom mirror while she was firmly brushing her hair," had you thought out how you intended to invite a very heterosexual middle aged male High Court judge to come to a soiree with several attractive but totally unavailable lesbians in honour of their older friend?"

"Err, I thought you had some kind of plan when you suggested the idea," Nikki confessed with a shamefaced, confused expression on her face. She was wearing her jeans and was indecisively trying to work out which top to put on," You sounded so positive last night."

The smaller woman spun round and riveted Nikki with her gaze, trying to sound stern while avoiding the distractions of her partner whose shapely curves were barely disguised by her white lacy bra.

"I hope, Ms Wade that you're not copping out by laying all the responsibility for the idea on me. Remember the promise we made that first night together, whatever comes up in our lives together, we face it together."

Nikki winced as the sharp-witted Scot incisively translated their romantic declarations of love into dealing with this difficult conundrum. She was trapped by her sharp logic.

"Darling, I've never copped out of anything in my life," she declared, laying her hands on Helen's shoulders." I'll try and figure out an idea. I'm just stuck at the present moment like I guess you are."

Nikki gently stroked hr partner's chin and searched inside her lover's expressive green eyes. As she expected, Helen mutely nodded assent.

Just at this tender moment and meeting of minds, there came a loud knocking on the door. It sounded like no one they knew. It chilled Nikki's blood, as it sounded official, not to say military in its tone. After the second of indecision, she shoved on the short-sleeved pink shirt that she'd worn in Larkhall prison. Whoever the visitor was, she was going to be prepared.

"All right, all right," Helen shouted furiously in the direction of the front door as the knocking started up after a brief pause," We're coming. No need to break the bloody door down."

Both women made their way to the front door and Helen swung the front door wide. Neither woman could believe what they saw. Facing them was none other than a scowling Sylvia Hollamby. Just behind her stood Bobby Hollamby trying to look stern and dominating. Behind them, a huge black hearse seemed to blot out the landscape._ I've heard about the Angel of Death coming out of the fourth dimension in some Dennis Wheatley novel and the black hearse fits the general idea but Bodybag and her Bobby look bloody ridiculous as creatures from the other dimension, _thought Nikki dazedly, as the sudden appearance of their unwelcome visitors felt surreal .By contrast, Helen glared in anger at them and fired the opening shots of the battle .

"What the hell are you doing round here, Sylvia? Don't you realize that Nikki and I were glad to see the back of you when we left Larkhall."

"Don't think we would dream to be associated with you if you weren't bothering my Auntie Margaret. An elderly woman in the sunset years of her life doesn't altogether know her right mind. She is frail and doesn't need to be troubled by your undesirable influence," Bodybag replied in an insufferable tone of voice, combining sulkiness with the sickeningly sanctimonious.

"You really don't know Margaret. After all your years of neglect of her, especially when she's been on her own and lonely, you don't accept that she's got a mind of her own. That's the most important thing about her," Nikki chimed in with a note of incredulity in her voice.

"You might think it funny, Wade, but we've heard about your underhanded plans to steal my aunt's money. We've come round to tell you both to stay away from her," shouted Bodybag, angered by the expression on Nikki's face.

"So this is what it's about. You're the money grabbers, not us," fired back Helen.

"Stay away from her?" questioned Nikki. Suddenly, she got a mental handle on the situation and felt strangely calm and deliciously in control of herself as she counter-attacked in a bantering tone of voice.. "Margaret took the piss out of the pair of you in sending you a postcard copy of that lovely portrait of three naked women. God knows how it ended up in public display in G wing. It can only be down to your carelessness. It's ironic that, but for your cack-handedness, we would never have got to know Margaret. She's now our good friend and she told us all about the painting. It was of Margaret, her partner Julia and their good friend. So really everything's your fault……….."

"You didn't tell me about that one, Sylv. To think of it our family reputation paraded for all to see," grated Bobby as Nikki impishly let the cat out of the bag. The two women viewed the man with contempt for his old fashioned patriarchal ideas even though it conveniently split the opposition. To the two women's delight, his deeply embarrassed wife turned a pretty shade of pink and showed how much real trust and communication operated in their relationship.

"Just go away, the pair of you and don't bother us," Helen exclaimed loudly." You have a bloody nerve lecturing us about Margaret. Oh yes, she's told us all about you and the one and only time you've invited her round and just why you did it. She didn't choose you as niece but she can choose her friends. Take your hearse off our street as well. It makes the place look ugly and so do you."

The luckless couple slunk away, Bodybag muttering to Bobby 'you were a right help' just loud enough for the two women to overhear. They stood with folded arms and saw Bobby fumble with the keys and eventually, the hearse lurched into gear and away down the street. Only then did they slide an arm protectively around the other's waist and make their way back inside.

"After that bustup, we're definitely going to organize the soiree," Nikki said in a determined tone of voice. Helen laughed out loud at the unexpected turnaround in their attitude.

"You know the Hollambys have that peculiar way of working their wonders to perform," Helen said mischievously, a gleam in her eyes. That irony made Nikki laugh out loud and long.

*****************

This time, it was easier to contact John as they had exchanged mobile phone numbers after their last meeting. John had suggested it as, after all, neither Nikki nor Helen had appeared before him so what was the problem? He had explained that normally, he had to be careful to observe this one rule. As John was clear of that constraint, they all sensed that there was a real nurturing friendship between them all that was growing very quickly. John was working in his chambers and was pleased to hear Nikki's pleasant voice down the phone. Coope had her back to him and her ears pricked up to hear his end of the conversation. It was obviously a personal call and when she heard Nikki's name, she repressed a smile as she strove to look studious.

"Hi John, it's Nikki? Remember me. Helen and I have an unusual request to make?" Nikki said very nervously, hr hand holding her mobile very tightly. She hated to handle delicate negotiations on the phone, as she preferred the visual cues of direct communication.

"You've roused my curiosity, Nikki," John said in reply, which, in turn, caused Coope's hearing to tune in.

"Helen and I very much wanted to organize a soiree for a woman we've recently befriended. She's gay like Helen and I are only she's a lot older than us. She lost her long time partner and she's rather lonely. We wanted to invite the best and most intelligent conversationalists we could think of and you obviously came to mind."

.

"This is an unusual request to make, Nikki, something which I must confess is a little out of the ordinary."Coope sighed to herself, strode over to where John was sitting and quietly had a word in his ear.

"It's not for me to say, judge,"Coope said in a silky smooth tone of voice, both of them knowing full well that Coope meant the precise opposite." Why don't you ask Nikki and Helen to come up to your chambers and discuss it properly? It'll give you time to think things over."

Nikki's heart leapt in delight as she heard that infinitely kind and understanding woman intervene on their behalf. The idea jumped into her mind that Coope was a natural for the soiree.

" I've got some free time tomorrow afternoon about 4ish. Would you and Helen be able to come down to the Old Bailey where you came last time? Coope will arrange for you to get through Checkpoint Charlie."

Nikki mouthed the essential words to Helen and nodded fervently into the phone's mouthpiece before getting out the necessary words. Behind John's shoulder, Coope smiled with satisfaction.

********

When it came to it, John was surprisingly amenable to the idea of the soiree. As Nikki sat on the comfortable settee next to Helen, she sipped politely at the cup of tea, and both women felt surprisingly comfortable in that 'Sunday afternoon cup of tea' atmosphere. The room was large and comfortable and the picture of some long ago judge hovered over the shoulder of where John was accustomed to work. The chambers were lined with the tools of John's trade, the library of caselaw stretching bar back into the past. The atmosphere felt relaxed, especially thanks to Coope's unobtrusive but noticeable influence. The question that had been at the back of Nikki's mind finally came to the surface.

"Incidentally, John, I'm curious as to why you and Coope have been so willing to come along. Don't get me wrong, we're both extremely grateful."

"It's quite simple, Helen. I trust in yours and Helen's judgment. I really have no intentions or agenda in this soiree. This is the first time in my life that I've got to know women without any ulterior motives whatsoever. Something tells me that the soiree will do me good. Besides, Coope will be congenial company."

John's smile was full souled, Helen felt. She could tell that he meant every word that he said. It felt so comfortable, chatting away to this guy who was definitely his own person in the same way that she and Nikki were. They belonged to that group of people who, for one reason or another, had set out to define themselves rather than passively accept someone else's second hand idea.

*******

"Hey Trisha," Nikki called out to her old friend, one night at Chix. "So are you up to coming to the soiree.

"I'm having second thoughts about this, Nik," the blond haired woman replied in uncertain tones." I'm just wondering what I can add to the event. I'm a party woman, used to making the evening go. This sounds like a very decorous event and I'm worried that I'll feel like a fish out of water. This isn't my scene."

"What did you tell me when I was the nervous one going to see John at the Old Bailey? You were the confident one 'You can't be arrested in asking to talk to a judge,' that's what you said. Those were your very words," Nikki argued triumphantly.

Trisha's face was a picture." I know, Nik, but that was when we were talking about you going. I was only advising you." The scornful look on Nikki's face made Trisha dry up and she was conscious of Helen's razor sharp gaze from the side of her. _This is so unfair,_ she thought.

"So where does this John guy fit in?" she answered, playing for time.

"So if Helen and I persuaded a heterosexual guy to come to an event with very unavailable woman, what's holding you back?" came Nikki's crushing retort. Helen looked on gleefully as she saw Trisha walk blindly into the trap waiting for her."

Trisha nodded dumbly but Nikki knew that she needed Trisha's cooperation and not her reluctant acquiescence.

"Babes, you underestimate yourself," pronounced Nikki confidently while a grinning Helen looked on." Look at it with an open mind. Margaret has such a store of knowledge that John is an intelligent guy who can talk on any topic. It will be both educational and enjoyable, I guarantee you."

"You of all people should know that you can't stand in the way of Nikki's enthusiasms," chipped in Helen. "Why don't you bring Jenny along? Claire and her partner are coming."

"So who's this Coope?" asked Trisha slowly, clearly starting to weigh up the evidence.

"Rita Cooper," explained Nikki." She's John's personal assistant but also his minder, so I hear. She's really nice and very intuitive. She very kindly let me see John in the first place in his chambers. I think she took pity on me as I felt very nervous and uncomfortable."

"Look at this way. You'll be amongst the most sensitive and intelligent people you could possibly hope to meet. I know you, Trisha. You'll find your feet in no time at all," Helen concluded to Nikki's smile of approval.

"Did you used to work, selling fridges to Eskimoes?" Trisha said wondering tones, secretly enjoying the affectionate laughter at her expense." All right, you bullies, I'll come and report for duty on time. Helen and Nikki affectionately kissed their good friend on each cheek. The event was finally falling into place.


	11. Chapter 11

Scene ElevenOn the Friday night before the soiree, Nikki's mobile bleeped and John's number appeared on the dial. As she went to click the button, she felt immediately worried that this was John bowing out of the soiree. _This must not happen, as John is in some way important to the whole event,_ she thought to herself but nevertheless answered

"John here. I wanted to ask you what sort of ideas you had for the soiree as I had an idea I wanted to run past you."

"Feel free to speak, John," Nikki said in warm, encouraging tones, feeling unexpected shyness in John's rapid delivery of words.

"It just so happens that I am an amateur violinist and I just wondered if your friend would appreciate renditions of some classical pieces. Of course, I'm not exactly of 'Last Night at the Proms' standard but I don't think I would altogether disgrace myself. What do you think?'

The eager tone in John's voice told Nikki that this was something secret that he had kept to himself and somehow, her approval was intensely important to him. This knowledge deeply touched her and intuition told her that in this area of his abilities, he was being uncharacteristically modest. His subordination to the well being of the forthcoming event equally moved her. After a deep breath, she spoke her thoughts.

"I for one would love to hear you perform and I'm sure so will the others. It's very kind for you to think of this as, between you and I, Helen and I are new to organizing an event like this and we're feeling a bit nervous."

In the pause that ensued, Nikki could feel the tension being released down the phone and John's smile of pure relief and pleasure.

"Then, I'll be there on the dot. This is all new to me too, but I'm sure we'll enjoy it if we put our minds to it. If we will it, we cannot fail," came the intense reply with a slight tremor in his voice. They signed off the conversation in the friendliest of terms and as John sank back into his sofa, all Helen had to do was to grasp the nature of the performance and she gave it her thumbs up.

**********

In the run up to the evening, Margaret had gladly got together with her two charming young friends and with surprising ease, planned out the food for the soiree. The older woman gladly let Helen and Nikki move into her kitchen and do the bulk of the work in preparing the buffet while she pointed out the obscure corners of her kitchen that memory told her would be useful. Everyone meshed round each other in a way that was the ultimate test of their bonding.The guests started to make their way to the soiree. This promised to be a new experience for them all. Trisha and her partner, Sally Anne along with Claire Walker and her partner, Jenny finally made their open-mouthed way into the mansion's living room. They'd been briefly told to expect something big and imposing but they weren't expecting the riotous splashes of colour. They felt overwhelmed by the richness of sensations, which temporarily drained them of energy.John had parked his car in the wide Hampstead Street and as they headed for the entrance, the door closed behind Jenny and invited them to follow the others inside. He threw a questioning look at the household they were about to enter but could not stop his feelings being translated into words. "Judge," Coope answered quietly in her persuasive fashion," I am confident enough that the evening will be fine. I liked the look of Nikki as soon as I saw her and I know she can be relied upon. You don't have to worry on my count." Naturally, John's concern was displaced outward on Coope's account, a fact that her slight smile quietly registered. Being used to banquets in fine houses, John wasn't as awestruck as the others but the exotic decoration took him immediately into an artistically exotic world which put all his senses on alert. "Ah John," Margaret exclaimed with an expression of delight on her face, spreading her arms wide," I've heard so much about you from Helen and Nikki. I'm so glad you could come as are all my other friends.""I must confess I didn't know what to expect but now that we're here, I feel good about myself. By the way, I must introduce Coope, otherwise known as Rita Cooper, my PA and generalised minder and a valuable part of my conscience.""I'll never forget your kindness when I came to you for help," Nikki intervened, her brown eyes radiating warmth at this kind-hearted woman. At once, John and Coope felt as if they had been plunged into a delicious bath of warming emotion that eased any residual stress out of their bodies. This scene felt immediately normal as ordinary conversation started up and John's blue eyes shone and his smile glowed unselfconsciously. Immediately, the introductions were made and, as the middle aged woman, Coope felt charmed by the exquisitely dressed younger women and highly conscious of the accumulated glowing wisdom of her host. For a second, she was astonished to see how John eagerly responded to female beauty that surrounded him which was out of his reach. For once, he was selflessly charming to every attractive woman in sight. It felt strange to him but good.On the long polished oak dinner table, assorted finger foods and pasta were artfully arrangedyet with no real deliberation.Mini-pumpkins, gourds and fresh autumn leaves all added a vibrant splash of colour around the two buffet servers. The one was topped off with tortellini and prawns in a garlic cream sauce alongside toasted garlic baguettes. The other buffet server was filled with penne pasta tossed in extra virgin olive oil with sautéed red and green bell peppers, zucchini, yellow squash, carrots, garlic, black olives, sun dried tomatoes and fresh basil topped with freshly grated parmesan cheese. On one end of the table was a vegetable assortment of carrots, celery, cherry tomatoes, and broccoli, red and green bell peppers with a side herb dip. The other end had layers of provolone and Swiss cheese, stuffed with fresh garlic, pesto sauce and toasted pine nuts. A chocolate fondue and assortment of fresh fruits for dipping sat in the middle of the table alongside a stack of silver cutlery, solid china, glassware and colour coordinated linen napkins that hadn't seen the light of day for too long. On a separate round table, glasses of red and white wine were there for the taking, to wash down the exquisite food**.** Margaret stood at the side of the table, a broad smile wreathing her face, the light dancing off her blue eyes. This was like the old days, she thought, yet this and herself stood foursquare in the present as it should be.

"Is the food to your liking, judge?" Coope asked John as she picked up her implements and viewed the gastronomic splendours on view with approval.

"My daughter Charlie persuaded me six months ago to go vegetarian so I have not ventured going entirely into unknown territory tonight. I know that I will enjoy this evening as it feels right," John said in his droll tones for public consumption, unobtrusively holding the center of conversation in the queue. "I would have thought that judges traditionally eat roast beef and Yorkshire pudding," Margaret said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Generally, you're right, Margaret but I am the sole exception which makes a rule not a rule. Far too much in life appears prescribed when it needn't be," quipped John, exactly enunciating every consonant.. "I can relate to that, John as can everyone else round here," Margaret replied, smiling more freely at each felt the other's sharp intellect with a meeting of the minds.."It seems we understand each other rather well."

As the queue shuffled its leisurely way forward, a generalized buzz of conversation gradually developed as the easy going atmosphere loosened tongues. This wasn't the wine talking but the warm glow of intelligent, compassionate people picking up off each other.

"It's perfectly extraordinary,' breathed Margaret incredulously, encouraged by the favourable reception, "Julia and I gradually added these bit by bit, to our diet as we travelled to France, Italy, Greece and other countries and finally got away from the roast beef and potatoes and white tablecloth regime. Along with everything else, we'd both been indoctrinated into that along with sitting down at the dinner table. We were regarded as avant-garde and dangerous as much as vegetarians as lesbians and here I am, the world has caught up with us and accepts all this as perfectly natural." "Margaret, Nikki and I can relate to the idea of being dangerous," Helen said with a grin, while she helped himself to a selection off the table." Everything's fine once you plunge into the water."

"You can spend a lifetime denying who you really are, in being held captive to that part of your upbringing that serves no earthly use to you. I learnt that from Trisha," put in Sally Anne with a soulful smile at her lover whose palm her fingertips brushed just before both picked up their eating implements.

John was the first to fill his plate and tentatively took the lead in finding somewhere to sit down comfortable and eat. Fortunately, as others joined her, the chairs were cleverly arranged in the living room so that there weren't any awkward angles, so that no one was relegated to the fringes of the conversation yet no one was pinned down to talking to the immediate neighbour as the formal dinner at the table dictated. It suited all the members of the soiree down to ground. Meanwhile, all the artifacts from all over the world somehow came to life in helping to weave a subtle atmosphere of intimacy.

"He can't really be a judge love. He seems too nice," Jenny said to Claire in her warm-hearted North Country fashion.

"He knows when to bite, believe you me," Claire replied as memories of Judge John Deed in action came back to her, of stamping his authority firmly on the court."Mind you, he only goes after those who deserve it."

"My opinion of the legal profession has got to be jaundiced. They came over as stuffed shirts who don't listen and patronize an ordinary – except for Marian Chambers who got you your freedom, Nik," broke in Trisha with strong feelings." When you got sent down, I went up in front of some dried up old judge called Huntley and a snooty barrister called Frobisher."

"I know them both and they are every bit as bad as you describe Trisha," laughed John.

"It isn't easy to be part of a profession, a crowd or any kind of gathering and stand up on your own for what you believe to be right."

"That sound like you talking, Nik. You always were one for a cause," Trisha said light-heartedly.

"And is that a problem?" Helen questioned, her eyebrows raised.

"After talking earlier to Margaret earlier on, definitely not. Not everyone are leaders but I'm quite good at joining in once someone else has led the way."

"Well, I for one, have my time cut out steering cases the judge's way and keeping him out of trouble," broke in Coope, a wide smile on her face. Most of the time, she had been quietly drinking in the conversation. Everything that was being said this night made perfect sense to her. So much of her time was spent in smooth diplomacy but right now, she could relax and let the evening flow amongst such intelligent and caring people.


	12. Chapter 12

**Scene Twelve **

Trisha was sitting at an angle to Coope and a mellow feeling enveloped her with a feeling of acceptance of everyone and everything around her. Her curiosity was aroused by the photograph on the mantelpiece. It showed a confident looking woman, wearing a loose fitting trouser suit clasping hands with the other exquisitely dressed woman with tight blond curls. Somehow, the photograph conveyed the sensation of the woman's eyes looking directly at Trisha who shrewdly put two and two together.

"Yes, that was Julia and I," put in Margaret." Sadly, I'm not the dish I used to be."

"Spiritually, you are," Helen intervened. "You may not know it but you are giving us our history."

"Julia and I did have our moments together," Margaret answered, a little smile on her face hinting at her past.**"** I'm sure you know enough to disregard all the absurd myths of the way people were supposed to live. There have always been dissenters and rebels and we expressed it in our chosen form. Of course, we were intensely in love in such a way that we felt exempt from the foolish strictures of society. They didn't get to us psychologically."

John, overhearing the conversation, while striking up a conversation with Jenny about his more outrageous exploits, smiled understandingly while Margaret's audience chose their particular spin on what Helen remember Nikki telling her once. Emboldened, Margaret finally started talking about her life with Julia in terms both romantic and sexual. Helen and Nikki made a mental note that, if Margaret's audience didn't see through superficial appearances to the woman who had lived her life, then the portrait of three nude woman in Margaret's living room would make that clear. That portrait, Margaret's stories and the photograph all made perfect sense right now.

While the conversation meandered on comfortably onwards and the food was eaten, there came the point when Nikki whispered into John's ear, who nodded nervously in return. This was it, he thought, the moment when he was to stand up and perform. This wasn't something he was used to as his professional experiences related far less to it than he had hoped. Nervously, he ran his finger along the inside of his shirt collar.

"And now, we have a special treat on store," announced Nikki in her clear, carrying voice," John has kindly offered to play some pieces on violin for us. I'm looking forward to it especially as I've never heard him play before but I trust to him as John is a naturally talented guy."

Nikki caught John's nervous smile at the scattering of applause before he turned his back and fiddled with the clips on his violin case. When John turned round again, Nikki's warm smile in her eyes and on her lips gave him encouragement when he needed it most. He paced towards his anointed spot on the Persian carpet in front of the fireplace. Taking centre stage, he surveyed the audience in the subdued half-light. A semi-circle of expectant faces was watching him as he realized that these sensitive women were willing him to win through. He had never told anyone that his entire performing career was performing in the solitude of his digs.

Taking his courage in both hands, John wedged his violin firmly under his chin and his bow balanced delicately between his fingers. It was now that some invisible power seemed to emanate from his fingers and that straining towards spiritual perfection and assurance of his skills took charge of him and his fears were banished to the shadows from the feeling of light that possessed him. As his arm was poised about to draw his bow across his violin, he visibly gathered his strength into himself and Nikki and Helen knew at that moment that John was going to win through. With the first flurry of flashing notes, John instantly conjured up the light dancing patterns of sound that radiated around him and captivated his audience in one throw.

This was an entirely new experience for Trisha and Sally Anne whose ears were more attuned to the dance music of the club they ran and this was a revelation to them. This appealed to their instincts to wing it, to embrace a new experience. Margaret watched with shining eyes as, miraculously, this intuitive man chose the pieces that were her all time favourites Coope sat open eyed at this entirely new side of the judge, The other four women sought to silently convey their utter pleasure in his success. John had made the grade and passed the test and with sure confidence, switched abruptly into a sonorous piece with sustained haunting long notes that reached out for everyone's sensitivities as they sat in the half light in a semicircle. It conveyed a haunted and haunting sensation, which John sustained, right to the psychologically exact time, when John broke into a skipping flurry of bright notes and signed off with a brief coda. When the last note faded in the air, John bowed elaborately to a chorus of delighted applause.

********

This was perfect, everyone breathed, this was truly a treat for the senses and the women felt John's whole souled intense pleasure in his performance come over in waves and what they gave to him in the purest, most platonic way possible as a ripple of applause signified sincere applause to John's selfless contribution to the evening.

Immediately, this changed the emotional pitch of the soiree as it inspired fresh conversation amongst those who had only recently met. John got into an intense conversation with Margaret on the finer points of classical music. Coope gravitated freely towards Trisha and Sally Anne who picked up on Coope's relaxing manner. They didn't plan a conversation with her- words naturally came out of each other's mouths.Nikki smiled with pleasure to see the complex interchange of intimate conversation, while she and Helen chatted to Claire and Jenny. The splendid white and red wine that they sipped from was only the sparkle bubbling up from the rich flowing river of intimacy when those who are at their most relaxed and mature will give freely of themselves.

**********

The words flowed out of Margaret's mind as freely and clearly as an unchained mountain stream. She knew that she was a little tipsy from the wine but she was happy to circulate round these interesting intelligent people and chatter away to her hearts content. She felt as centred as never before. The room was gently swaying and her vision was slightly misted but she was certain that all the mementoes from her past life smiled kindly down on her. Everything in her life was it should be. Suddenly, she was conscious that one other person materialized out of nowhere in the extreme corner of her vision. She could feel and sense the other woman's presence as a physical quality. How could she have thought that the one person in the world wouldn't ever be here? Her heart leapt inside her as that unmistakable voice articulated itself in her ear.

"Well, darling, you're having a party just the way we always used to."

Margaret could swear that she could see before those well remembered blue eyes, heart shaped face, carefully applied lipstick, and tightly curled blond hair. Her lover's delightfully androgynous trouser suit didn't restrain the shapely curves that she'd always loved. Curiously enough, the other woman's face was free of the lines of age and experience. This was absolutely real and the feelings inside her made her feel as young as her lover looked.

"Julia," breathed Margaret**. "**You look divine. I should have realized that you'd be here for my friends, sorry our friends."

"Any friends of yours are bound to be my friends. That's what we swore when we started to live together. I've been listening to the conversations and they are as sparklingly intelligent as they have ever been. We never could abide straight-laced bores of all kinds."

"You don't mind John being here?" questioned Margaret, seeing the man through a mist wearing his dark immaculate suit and his grey hair

"Not in the slightest. Dearest. He's one of nature's rebels. Go out and enjoy yourself as you always did. I'll always be around."

"A penny for your thought Margaret," Coope said, having watched the elderly woman's lips move soundlessly, the look of total bliss on her face and the momentary look of fading uncertainty and confusion on her face. Only as she spoke did this remarkable woman gathered a sense of composure into herself, smiling slightly at this old fashioned expression.

"You can have them for nothing, Coope," replied Margaret brightly, very much in the present." Oh, I…..at one time, I never thought I could be part of a gathering like this after Julia had gone and so had all my friends…..It might surprise you that nothing really dies, not if it was durable enough in the first place."

"Julia was your partner in life," ventured Coope as a statement, not a question, with that soothing wave of sympathy in her voice that made the older woman feel that qualities were handed down the generations. Nothing was really wasted, she reflected, on the impermeable and uncertain cusp of present and past.

"I thought I could never be happy again as I am now. I really felt that any feeling of happiness left was because of the ghosts of the past. They are more durable than one might think."

"You felt Julia here tonight, didn't you," Coope said softly.

The older woman blushed at the way her deepest confidence was delicately forced from her. It struck her what a supreme diplomat this friend of hers was, because surely she was a friend.

"I felt her more surely than I have ever done before. There are moments when I've been on my own and reminiscing about my past and I've only been half here. When I've been dragged back to reality, I've felt depressed and let down. This time, it's different."

The lightness and gaiety continued to gather everyone up in a magic spell as the sense of passing time was suspended.

"Someone ought to propose a toast to Margaret, or something like that," Trisha suggested from out of nowhere, totally in her element.

"John's the one for that," pronounced Claire in carrying tones." I've seen him at legal functions. He knows the right sort of things to say." Her proposal was enthusiastically adopted by one and all.

"I'm highly gratified by your confidence in me but this isn't the same as functions I've addressed in the past. This gathering means a lot to me emotionally. I really want to express all our feelings just right and not give a slick showy performance," John said very slowly, deliberately articulating every word slowly as he was feeling his way.

"We understand John. That's why we chose you. We know you'll get it right," Helen said softly, her voice and gaze cutting its way directly to John's uncertainties. The man smiled more freely, breathing the tensions out of his body. He felt more confident in trusting that he could tap into his feelings and safely translate them into words in front of these sensitive women.

"I really must pay tribute to Margaret Winters as the finest antidote to complacency and smugness that I could ever hope to find though the rest of you fine people give her a good run for her money, not forgetting Coope here, who is my minder and my conscience….." At this point, John intercepted the knowing look from his very patient perceptive PA and reined in his drifting thoughts.

"It's a very curious thing but Margaret gives me hope for the future when I have doubts about myself. I've actually met someone who in her very loving way, is outrageous and defiant of the narrow-minded world in just being who she is. She is very lucky in having loved and being loved. Not everyone is so fortunate. That is a priceless quality. I feel confident that there is the power to reach out and touch something precious in a friend, a lover that will endure. I have such confidence in it as never before**. **Everyone has the chance if they want to take it. I offer a toast to this very remarkable inspiring woman, Margaret Winters and a profound wish that she will remain amongst us all……I hope this makes sense….."

A ripple of applause ran round the audience as John raised his glass and shone the light of praise on their friend. Her manner was curiously little girlish, at being at the most important birthday part of her life where only the suggestion of blowing out all the candles in one blow was missing. She was hyper aware of this missing element. That didn't matter as it was there in her mind. She could blow out the candles if she chose- nothing felt beyond her.

Waiting in the wings, Nikki and Helen looked on proudly. All the hard work in making this event happen had finally paid off. There was no better moment in this soiree than this as their worlds were shaped into new possibilities of friendship.


	13. Chapter 13

Scene Thirteen

"It's strange, Margaret," Helen said in her restful tones as she sipped tea from the delicately shaped bone china cup in their living room," but I'm fascinated at hearing all your stories of the past. Thanks to Nikki, I've been steered in the direction of lesbian fiction, both contemporary and period."

"I remember the day when I handed Miss Innocent here a copy of that book you borrowed, you know, Jessica Winterton's' 'Oranges are not the only fruit,'"laughed Nikki..

Margaret grinned openly as she always did at the quickfire repartee between her friends, Nikki's mischievous tones and Helen's open laughter at her former persona before thinking with tenderness at their kind loan of the book to her. In her eyes, lending a book was temporarily parting with a part of something precious and intimately trusting to the friend that it would relate to her. She knew her friends felt exactly the same way.

"I enjoyed it, Nikki. Once I opened the book, I couldn't put it down I'm glad you're opening my eyes to modern literature. I've needed some mental fresh air."

Both women visibly warmed to their friend's sincere enjoyment at opening up to new experiences, even at her time in life. It inspired them to keep on doing what they did in their lives.

"That was early on in our relationship, Margaret. I felt safe, as I knew she was interested in me. Don't say you weren't at that stage, babes."

"Well I was when I look back at it but I really was a bit of a mystery to myself. Didn't you sometimes feel like that when you were younger?" Helen protested, smiling with her eyes and lips and running her tongue along her lower lip.

"To save Helen's embarrassment any further, I'll tell you about how it was when I was growing up. Mind you, you have to totally immerse yourself in my story," their friend pronounced, fixing the two women's eyes with her penetrating gaze. Right then, she felt incredibly centred, that she strangely lived more in the present than she had for a long time but the shadows of her past were becoming just as real, not as if she dreamed a life lived by someone else..

"We will," both women breathed together, waiting for their imaginations to take them back in time. They knew exactly what their friend was talking about. Up till then, they had listened to the words but they hadn't conveyed the experience for real. Sometimes it takes the second or third time to really get the point. To the two women, it felt as if they were being taken back in time, as silent onlookers of the pictures and sounds that opened up before them…….

****************

This was her magical place, Margaret always thought as she crouched down in the untidy bushes right at the very back of the garden, the one small patch that wasn't tamed into a regimental flower and lawns. This was her special place. Her thick dark hair hung loose to her shoulders and not tied back in a ponytail or pigtails as was common for schoolgirls. Discontentedly, she looks down on her drab grey tunic and cardigan. It looked so uniform, thanks to her mother. Social mores dictated that, while she was fourteen, she was considered a child but she knew herself that while she had loved her past simplicities, something in her was growing and her imagination was budding just as much as her body was. By contrast, Constance was seventeen but was heavy-handedly assuming the role of grown up older sister and already old and set in her ways.

The summer holidays could never end as far as she was concerned, as she loved the open-air feeling when she could get the chance. She looked upwards into the sky and gently flickering leaves and sunbeams greeted her senses. In her mind's eye, she could picture the olive groves in Italy, the sunburst colour of geraniums, the bold outcrops of rock, the sheer unspoiled nature, just as she had painted the fantasies in art lessons. She had always had her wayward enthusiasms and this warm hearted overflowing of ideas and emotions craved attachment and would not be denied, least of all by herself.

.

She eyed her mother narrowly as she religiously hung up the washing on the line in the back garden, sighing as she slaved away to herself.

"A woman's work is never done," she heard her mutter to herself," and I suppose his master will want his dinner on the table, just the way he wants it."

The way her mother talked in unguarded moments always made Margaret feel funny about herself. It was extraordinary how only she heard her mother talk like that. She always had the strange feeling that only she saw the world as it was and grownups had a different version of reality. Some strange chance decided that her childlike inquisitive nature should pick up on this while her straight-laced older sister Constance always just missed the moment. This was just such a moment as she popped up out of nowhere just as their mother closed the back door behind her.

"Found you, Margaret," she said, stating the obvious.

"Hello, Constance. I thought you were engaged in some good deed round the house."

"I don't work all the time. I'm going out to the pictures with Bobby to see 'Gone with the Wind.' It's supposed to be very romantic," her sister confessed with a coy look on her face. I suppose you're staying up in your room with your paintings," she added spitefully.

"Actually, I'm going to visit Victoria," Margaret said with a slight tremor in her voice.

"You and your school friends," Constance said scornfully." Always the same. You're always talking about how wonderful they all are. When I grow up," sang out her sister zeroing in on her own agenda."I'll marry a man who has a good job, who'll support me. I'm going to have two children and we'll have a nice house….." Constance started to say. While she elaborated on her domestic fantasies, the younger girl picked up a twig and peeled off the bark in a distracted fashion.

"…**..**and all will end happily ever after," interjected Margaret pertly." Are you really sure you'll like it when you get. If you become what our mother and father are like, you'll really hate it. "

"Speak for yourself, Margaret.

"You can't Margaret replied with a twinkle in her eye. The irony was lost on the older sister.

"Anyway, I've done my chores. All work and no play make Jill a dull girl. See what I've got from going in town with Mother yesterday," her bossy elder sister proclaimed, surprising the younger girl in the surprising adaptation of her stock of hand me down proverbs, readily absorbed from her mother

Margaret humoured her with no great expectations of anything exciting. Constance dragged her into the living room and to the windup gramophone that had its pride of place. Ordinarily, there were dire and dreadful warnings that only grown-ups could operate this tricky modern invention. Most dire of all were the instructions not to touch the five or six heavy breakable records in the recesses of the cabinet. Margaret supposed that Constance must have ingratiated herself particularly to Mother and Father to be entrusted with it. She sat down decorously on the settee, while Constance folded the lid back. She cranked the handle round several times and lowered the heavy stylus down onto the rotating disc.

Instantly, a soupy mixture of slow moving swing music emanated from the speaker and a male voice proclaimed undying love in tones that only bored Margaret while Constance was enchanted. It was only the counterpart of what Constance had been saying earlier on. The younger girl let this dead time continue until they were called to sit stiffly at the table for afternoon tea during which her thoughts wandered in that fashion that labeled her in her parent's eyes as a dreamer unlike her practical, sensible sister.

"Just remember, Margaret. Staying at Mr. and Mrs Steeples's house is a privilege, not a right. You know that you have to be well behaved," lectured their mother in those tones that most irritated Margaret." I've packed everything you'll need for the night so mind you don't complain. If you get woken up by your friend's snoring or if the mattress is too hard, you'll only have yourself to blame."

"Yes, mother," she said dutifully, her eyes downturned. Inwardly, her heart was pounding at the unbelievable good fortune that, for once, she was let off the leash and knew that whatever happened that night, her mother's concerns weren't hers. She was finally out of the house, and despite the weight of her small brown suitcase, she felt that she was dancing on air. She felt as if she was setting out on a voyage of discovery, that she wasn't sure what dangers there were along the way but that her soul ached to encounter what lay ahead as she couldn't bear being held back. It was an instinct that would serve her well in her life to come.

*********

Victoria was regarded as Margaret's special friend at school by a process that was as mysterious as any that caused friendships to blossom or fade. The two of them had become inseparable, inside school and out and walked around together arm in arm in a way that was unremarkable in such innocent times and places. The English culture that inhibited introspection or putting your heart on your sleeve allowed much that was subterranean to continue, sometimes oblivious to the person concerned.

As they became 'older girls' in the Fourth Form, Margaret became noticeable around school for her bewitching combination of a precocious personality, slim figure, dark, slightly curly hair and the bluest of blue eyes. Similarly, Victoria's thick blond hair, fresh complexion, hazel eyes and innocent manner could not be overlooked. However Margaret's precociously bohemian humour caused her friend to dissolve into helpless laughter revealing her even white teeth, endearing grin and lights in her eyes. Something inside Margaret was spurred on to continue her playful repartee to see how her friend reacted. It made her feel good inside her and feel alive even on cold English winter days, which tended to chill the spirits. Besides that, Victoria was the stronger of the two of them and stuck up for the pair of them against the bullies. Margaret's quick witted repartee and air of being set apart somehow invited trouble from the right thinkers, especially by contrast with memories of her straight laced sister.

"One sevens are seven

Two sevens are fourteen

Three sevens are twenty one."

And so chanted the tuneless harmonies of schoolchildren while the schoolteacher, led the chant, standing sideways to the blackboard, chalk in her hand. Margaret had hated arithmetic even as a child, with all her restless spirit, having sat in the back row on the hard wooden chair, her childish hands resting on the battered wooden school desk slightly slanting and the inkwell to her right. Now she was older and was undergoing a history lesson, her free spirit had hardened into rebellion. She put up her hand to ask a pertinent question now that the lecture of facts had finished.

"Excuse me Miss, but you have explained the unending series of the English in the Hundred Years Wars. Henry V's victory at Agincourt and Edward III's victory at Crecy but don't you consider Joan of Arc's victories in relieving the siege at Orleans as equally brilliant? In fact, her rise to command the French Army from humble origins as an ordinary peasant woman is all the more remarkable and is an inspiration to all women today."

"Winters, you are deliberately setting out to cause trouble. Such an opinion is scandalously unpatriotic. For your information, Joan of Arc is revered for her saintly behaviour and the visions she had as a child. You will write out a hundred lines by first thing the day after tomorrow,'I shall not cause mischief in class," came the voice like thunder and a red angry face.

Margaret stood resolute against all the right thinkers who turned round to glare at her. She only saw the shining look of admiration from Victoria. Nothing mattered at that moment and, even if she was developing a 'pash' for her friend and she likewise, it felt perfectly normal to her.

************

Nothing that is worth striving forever happens in vain. Down through the echo galleries of time where events are retold and passed down through generations, two thirty something women and a middle aged grey haired man clapped their hands and said 'Bravo' to the sure memory of the witness of that long ago occasion. For had they not when they were younger taken such a reckless step towards defiance while their own classmates? It had to start somewhere.


	14. Chapter 14

**Scene Fourteen**

Mr. and Mrs Steeples were proud to show off to their daughter's friend their shining example of traditional family life in a lively set of card games round the dining room table. Tea had been finished and the coal fire burnt merrily away, casting a friendly glow to the family hearth. To their eyes, Margaret seemed a polite presentable girl whose concentration on the finer points of playing rummy was sadly deficient as was their daughter. They really weren't thinking straight and made obvious elementary blunders. Nevertheless, the girls were well behaved enough. Mr. Steeples felt secret contentment at another easy win for him in their four-hand game. His wife nodded agreement with him in getting them settled down for the night so they could relax by themselves. Not for one minute would they break their strict views on family rules, 'early to bed, early to rise makes one healthy, happy and wise' being first and foremost for children. Surprisingly, they both agreed without any dissent, Victoria being on her best behaviour on a topic that she could be difficult about. Soon, his wife bustled around and led the girls upstairs just in the same way as it had always been since their daughter was a little girl.

Life seemed timeless and unchanging in the rosy peaceful suburban England of nineteen thirty eight, ruled both by the new King George and the ethics of hard work and clean living. The horrors of the trench warfare of a previous generation had faded into history, thank God. After all, his copy of the Daily Mail told him that Neville Chamberlain was a 'great peacemaker' and echoed the declaration that there was 'peace in our time.' Most of all, he was king of his little castle, whose solid walls were sure to keep out hostile elements. These sentiments were uppermost in Mr. Steeples' thoughts as he poured a glass of neat whisky, none of that damned new fangled whisky on the rocks as American movies had it.

Mrs Steeples looked on with approval as the two girls had washed and cleaned their teeth and were now safely tucked up, wearing similar prim cotton nightdresses, fresh faced, demure, hair nicely brushed and tied back and the bed nicely made. "Have a good night, you two and settle down to sleep. Be good girls."

"We will, Mrs Steeples," Margaret said in her most innocent tones. Under her breath, she considered that this was the evening which would see them ceasing to be children by putting aside childish things as they were advised to. Her already developing sense of irony made her smile at the thought that this was the one proverb to which she paid any attention.

*****

The light was clicked off, the door shut and when the tread of footsteps descending downstairs had ended, Margaret turned around to her friend, her heart and her body on fire with pent up desires. She laid both hands either side of that desired face and kissed Victoria's lips eagerly and many times before they held each other close in their arms.

"Victoria darling, I thought we'd never be on our own," she whispered in words that she'd rehearsed in her own mind many times for tonight. She didn't know how if she sounded as sophisticated as she wanted to be but it didn't matter.

"You're my goddess," Victoria sighed, swooning in the arms of that extra special being who held her.

"You're my Joan of Arc. You're so strong," came her romantically charged reply as they lay back in each other's arms. For the moment, the purity of their virgin love laid a temporary constraint on them as both women lay back in their bed and they fell into a thoughtful silence.

"This room is quiet, isn't it?" Margaret asked delicately, a lurking fear that a troubled conscience might leap out of her friend's emotional depths at somehow betraying her parent's confidence.

"Perfectly quiet so long we're not stupid. I found that out years ago" came the positive response.

"In that case, do you really want us to stay in the dark, sweetheart?" Margaret teased her forward thinking mind and her strong passions intertwined and drove her onwards.

Victoria thought for a moment. After her first flowering of feelings, she had become slightly nervous until she heard her parents click the radio and could hear their dance music play. She now felt in the gloom for her box of Swan Vestas to light the bedside candle in the brass candle stand. It dominated her bedside table drawer with all her childish knick-knacks. To the two impressionable women, the soft glow was incredibly romantic and glowingly shaped each other's beauty. It was a vision both of them wanted to preserve in the romantic perfection of the moment. .

The intensity of Margaret's emotions swept through her as she freed the other woman's blond hair as she'd always fantasized doing. Gleefully, she shook her own free from any similar constraints. She was right on the edge of her very venturesome personality and everything felt so excitingly right for her as she kissed the other woman's neck slowly and lovingly tasted her. Both women's breaths came in shallow ragged breaths.

"I think of you day and night…my love," Victoria finally admitted before speaking with a questioning tone in her voice."So this is what our love is about?"

A deep knowing look from Margaret said that she was all woman and was perfectly confident of herself. In slow motion time, she edged them further into the sea of possibilities by pressing the softness of her lips against Victoria's and the tip of her tongue slid deeply into the other woman's mouth. This was so much more satisfying and both felt a strange sensation in their stomachs. The feel of running their fingers through each other's hair and stroking each other's faces and shoulders became normal to each other.

"Is this what they call a French kiss?" Victoria questioned, loving the feel of it all.

"Why should let the French monopolize this pleasure?" counter-questioned Margaret daringly, weaving her seductive spell and easing the way for their growing pleasures to well up in them. There was one thing that bothered her and that was the feeling of being impeded by the resistant layer of practical sleeping material. It was an obstacle to be moved aside as was so much in Margaret's life.

"Why don't we take off our nightdresses? We'll feel so much better."

"Do you think we ought to?"

"Wouldn't you rather I touch your skin than cotton and you do the same for me?" whispered the dark haired seductress. Put that way, the fair-haired woman hardly disagreed as they disrobed and snuggled down under the eiderdown. As their hands slipped over each other's skins, they emitted little sighs and moans of satisfaction as they pressed against each other. It was natural when Margaret moved over on top of her lover and straddled her. It seemed the next move to make in her game of life.

"Darling, do you want to be the man of the two of us?" questioned the fair-haired woman.

"Now why should I want that?" came the puzzled response." You lie back, darling. I know what I'm doing. Just trust me," breathed that sensuous voice, older than her years.

Margaret could hardly believe herself now. Her heart was in her throat and the mingling of love and desire made her feel deliciously right about herself. Juices were starting to pour from her and she mouthed 'yes' to that. Her lips and tongue caressed her lover's right nipple and her fingers reached down that much desired body, and caressing that flat stomach. They were both on fire but she knew that the flames weren't going to burn them. Instinct taught their fingers to softly kiss and caress each other, becoming bolder in becoming used to each other. Their hips were starting to move and both of them were making little moaning sounds and ran up against the only constraint of not making too much noise. The dark haired woman had never felt so realized in all her life till that moment when she finally slipped her finger inside her lover's moist spaces and rubbed against the fair-haired woman, who was dazzled by the enormity of the sensations bursting out of her. How did her friend know what to do, she wondered deliriously as she started to tremble and she felt as if she was exploding inside. Somehow she wasn't frightened by her feelings as Margaret tenderly cradled her – she would look after her as she always had.

Victoria was amazed in timidly imitating her lover when she rose so gloriously, unashamedly and completely into one long sustained flowing orgasm. It seemed to last forever so that her fingers were getting tired until one final spasm was accompanied by a long deep tender kiss of gratitude. As Margaret lay back against the mattress, her heart pounding and gasping for breath, she knew what a defining moment this would be in her life to come.

"That was utterly divine, Victoria," breathed Margaret with that blissful sense of completion." I love you so much. This is the start of something wonderful."

"I love you, too darling," Victoria assured her, mesmerized by new facets of who was, in another sense, her dearest closest friend.

"This room is simply paradise," Margaret said ecstatically. The flickering candle, now about to expire from its burning, cast wonderful deep shadows

"It sounded strange calling you darling but it doesn't anymore," Victoria said, her fingers gently stroking the other woman's soft breasts as the most natural thing in the world. They settled down in the utter peace and tranquility of their closed in world as wax dripped down in straight streams down from the rim of the holder and the stump of the candle.

"Everything is natural if it feels right and you put your mind to it," Margaret spoke solid certainties spoke into the fair-haired woman's ear. The more they lay back in the delicious afterglow of their love, the more luminous and exciting their conjoined future felt.

"How on earth did you know what to do, Margaret? This can't be your first time, can it?" came Victoria's puzzled question.

"It's just as well for both of us, sweetheart, I have a vivid imagination and besides, I experimented on myself first," came the soft teasing response." You don't become a woman when you become twenty-one and get the key of the door. It's when you have feelings and know what to do with them."

With that profound wisdom, they snuggled down alongside each other just as Mr. and Mrs Steeples started to mount the staircase.

*************

In some other time and dimension, Nikki burst into spontaneous applause as this cinemascope reality before her eyes and she looked anew at the elderly woman sat opposite her, her white hair piled up on her head. At that unwanted moment, her mobile phone started bleeping in her jeans pocket but she cut that off as an unnecessarily modern intrusion on a priceless moment. At an angle, Helen sat back open mouthed as the sun shone brightly into Margaret's living room, typifying her spirit. Her visible wide-eyed admiration only echoed Nikki's feelings with ultimate high definition stereo headphone effect.

Nikki realized that she had never taken seriously enough the idea that image and reality could diverge so much, the teenage dark haired femme fatale and the white haired grandma figure. After all, Margaret had spelled out repeatedly how outrageously unconventional she was and her intellect and 'feeling mind' had only sharpened, not diminished over the years. She shook her head in wonder, as she knew that she still had so much to learn in life.

Opposite them both, they looked anew at the woman's long dark flowing robes and the long scarf carelessly draped round hr neck. The other woman's face was lined with experience, not age but the twinkle in those intensely blue eyes told her how Victoria might so easily have fallen in love with her all those years ago. This woman was more sophisticated and mannered than it used to be and voice hadn't the clear, firm and girlish resonances but now they were beginning to understand how someone like Margaret could span the continuum of time and change yet still stay true to herself. It was a stunning revelation to them both.

"You are quite some woman. Now I can see you as you really are," breathed Nikki, her eyes shining with admiration.

"Now I come to think about it, I was always headstrong and never had any time with what I was supposed to be. Complete waste of time, darlings, I assure you" Margaret said, understanding everything.

"You're the teacher of you and me and Helen and John and all of us. Margaret. I would never have dared have sex under my friend's parent's roof. And I used to think I was so modern and daring," Helen exclaimed.

"Looks like my generation didn't invent lesbian sex after all," Nikki said with a wry grin followed by Helen's loud laughter.

"I can't believe you, Nikki. Lesbian? What does that tell you? You know Sappho and whoever. Jesus, you a card-carrying feminist as well and you don't even know our history. Me I'm a comparative newcomer. I've got excuses."

"All right, smart arse, I surrender," Nikki protested loudly holding up both hands."I'll get you back for this later," she added in an exaggerated stage whisper. Margaret giggled helplessly at these two dear women. They were the equal of her own quick wits and of her old friends. She really wasn't quite sure what temporal zone she now inhabited.

"I've lived a long life. I read these days how 'working out at the gymnasium' is supposed to be oh so healthy. Nonsense, my dears, that's so puritan and repressive. They might as well come out with it and talk of cold showers as they used to. A good balanced diet, a faithful lover and regular nights of sexual passion works wonders for the system."

The three of them burst into hearty laughter at the older woman's perceptive wit. She was unique, so dear to them and was so irreplaceable.


	15. Chapter 15

Scene FifteenLiving in London posed interesting contradictions for those battling with big city life. Every city has its rush hour traffic but the stream of traffic that converged on London and clogged up its streets felt like nothing else on earth. Alternatively, weary commuters were packed in on tube trains like sardines who grudgingly accepted their lot in philosophically helpless fashion. However, the bruising bustle of life was entirely different when everyone went home to their lives in the suburbs. As darkness started to fall, city streets became hard, unforgiving empty places, shut in by stone buildings empty of people and signposts pointing out places of public importance but nowhere to help the desperate and lonely. As likely as not, any stranger to the city helplessly clutching their London A-Z guide would accost with directions another tourist or a foreigner for help - if they were lucky. Generally, people hadn't the time to be diverted from their fixed purposes in life and walked ever onwards. At the end of the day, it was far too easy to be shut in, lonely and isolated, a paradox in such a city with a long history of cosmopolitanism. Once the front door was shut, big city blues kicked in with a vengeance as far too many lonely people found out to their cost Such a thought was at the back of Nikki's mind years ago after she herself had met the challenge of the big city years ago and conceived the idea with Trisha to launch 'Chix.' On the flipside of the coin was her perception that so many women didn't know how their lives could be changed. If some lonely woman once came to flip through 'Time out' magazine, confronted their fears to step through the bedsit door, get out on the streets and into the club, her life could be changed overnight. Once the barrier of inhibition was broken, many a 'first timer's' life was set free.

It was neither Nikki nor Helen's practice to imagine that their respective working worlds couldn't survive without their continued presence. Both were compelled to get outside for their lunch break and, if possible to meet up over coffee. This time, Nikki knew in advance that she would be irretrievably detained and phoned Helen on her mobile. Thus it was that Helen strolled down the street feeling slightly disorientated, wondering whether or not to window shop or alternatively, to go to their favourite café on her own. She opted for the latter and, in drinking a café latte, would engage in an old habit of 'people watching.' With so many people's lives continued in snatched moments, it was an interesting exercise to step outside her own life and tune into other people's lives for a change. This time, coincidence overtook her vague plan.

"Why Helen. I thought I saw you come in here," called out that distinctive soothing female voice from behind her. Helen turned round with a dazzling smile to greet that very kindly woman whose friendship she had made in one magical night. Coope was a very good substitute for Nikki as her restful nature instantly smoothed away any frayed nerves from the morning's work.

"Am I glad to have your company, Coope," Helen exclaimed." I normally meet Nikki most lunchtimes but your company is extremely welcome. Want to join me for a latte?"

The older woman was extremely gratified by Helen's welcome. The soiree had woven its magic spell around them in dissolving the reservations and formalities of normal conversation and fending off the conventional trivialities of the weather and the emptiness of neighbourhood gossip. For a split second, Coope had feared the implacable resurrection of polite barriers to communication through meaningless platitudes but a split second of Helen's sparkling outgoing personality put paid to that. Instead, they would carry on where they had left off that night.

"Do you know how it cheers me up to have some intelligent female company? The morning I've had in dealing with tetchy listings clerks, taking phone calls from too many self -important people and watching every word I say. I'm no one spectacular but it doesn't harm to get consideration once in a while. After a morning like this, meeting you by chance reminds me what I'm missing."

Helen had expected this comfortable middle-aged woman to be serene and relaxed. This sudden outpouring made her all ears for the troubles that were spilling out of this nice woman's mind. Doubtful of where to start first, she made a tentative move.

"You surely don't mean John in your list of complaints? I know you work for him and our admiration from afar is easy enough?" queried Helen in a puzzled tone of voice to be relieved by the other woman's gesture of dismissal.

"I bet that working for John is never dull," laughed Helen gaily, trying to accentuate the positive.

"He worries me sometimes how far he pushes his luck, but he's one person at work who makes my life bearable. The trouble is that that wretched Lawrence James has threatened to transfer me to another judge. The man's a bully and I'm afraid he'll get what he wants."

Coope's combined worries for John and her own position went out to Helen's large heart but one pedantic detail nagged at her for her attention first.

"I think I've come across him before. He and another guy ran up against John when Nikki and I were having a nice pleasant chat with him. They lost, hands down. That black guy was seriously overcompensating with his super smart suit and polished briefcase."

Helen's razor sharp observations made Coope laugh out loud. She needed that shot of cheering up.

"That's the one. Of course, he's had it in for the judge ever since he had Lawrence James jailed for contempt for trying to make off with a trial file that the judge wanted, despite my protests. I saw him in the dock when the judge made him grovel, as he hadn't been entirely sure that his first attempt at contrition had been genuine. Of course, you should keep that one under your hat," Coope added with a sly grin. That meant, of course, that she could tell Nikki whose sense of discretion Coope obviously trusted.

That revelation made Helen laugh even louder than her friend. John was the perfect antidote to petty authoritarians everywhere.

"You know, going with the judge to that soiree really opened my eyes and my mind. I've only once accompanied him outside court but this was really different. It was nothing like I'd expected," continued Coope in a meditative tone of voice. There was a faraway look in her eyes that Helen couldn't get to the bottom of but then again, Helen knew already what a normally private person the older woman was.

"I'm sure you realized that none of us were there to project how lesbian we were. The soiree was a new experience and we wanted just to blend in and ended up buzzing on an incredible high that night."

"That evening was the most extraordinary revelation. It took me to another place. I've never felt at peace with myself for a long time," Coope added with a faraway look in her eyes." I thought I'd be out of place amongst a crowd of glamorous sophisticated women. I know I'm just ordinary and middle aged ….." Coope started to say in a hesitant manner.

"Coope, you're anything but ordinary," protested Helen vehemently. "You had stiff competition that night. Margaret floored everyone with her sheer charm and outrageousness and the ladies weren't entirely impervious to John's male charms and prowess on the violin. For all that, you can bet your bottom dollar that they didn't overlook how sharp you are and how you made for incredibly relaxing company. They're all sensitive women, very attuned to atmosphere."

"It's nice of you to say that, Helen," Coope said, an expression of real gratitude in her eyes and voice.

"I can see that you're not used to compliments, Coope and you're going through a tough time. I wish I could help." All these words came out of Helen instinctively with no forethought. She trusted to moments like these, something that living with Nikki had encouraged by her own example.

"You've already done so, Helen," Coope said with that wide smile of hers and she paused for thought. She continued speaking in a manner that was delicately inquisitive."I noticed how really close you and Nikki are at the soiree. It's almost as if you're the one person."

"Not quite Coope," Helen rushed on, pleased to be validated by this intelligent woman. "You probably know that Nikki and I met from the wrong side of the prison bars at Larkhall Prison and it was extraordinary how everyone else faded into the background once I saw her for who she was. She was so strong, so visually resolute. It was incredibly difficult for us both, as we couldn't date in the conventional sense and this was my first time with another woman. We both have strong personalities and certainly had our share of misunderstandings and arguments without the privacy to talk things over. When there was a move to bury Nikki's appeal we were both in the depths of despair. I still don't know how I had the nerve to ask for John's help as I suppose you know, sheer desperation probably."

"I remember the judge coming back from the judges conference. He was aflame with a powerful sense of injustice that was done to Nikki. He was talking about your case and, while it wasn't my place to express my opinion, I did make a few suggestions."

"I might have known," breathed Helen at this revelation. "Of course, I should have known. It seems strange how later on, Nikki psyched herself up for the terrific challenge to seek permission to see John Deed over the little matter of the soiree."

Coope laughed at the strange conjunction of Helen's life or death mission of Nikki's appeal and Nikki's later request to see the very same judge over a social invitation.

"I put two and two together. Nikki couldn't have seemed more tensed up and nervous as if her life depended on it. I felt really sorry for her and I was glad to meet the human being behind what I'd heard of as a gross miscarriage of justice. Mind you, I once worked for Judge Jackson who sent Nikki down and he was the worst person to work for. It was sheer slavery, I can assure you."

"I can see that you do a lot behind the scenes, Coope. Believe me, Nikki and I appreciate it," Helen said with warm appreciation.

"You were starting to talk about the two of you since you both got your freedom,"Coope politely asked." I'm interested to hear your story."

"Things have happened so quickly in the last few months," beamed Helen, her eyes all aglow." Nikki and I have certainly made up for lost time. For us to come and go as we please, to have friends who are supportive of our love, to sleep in the same bed still seems the height of luxury. I don't think we will ever be the one personality as Nikki is still the emotionally intuitive one while I can't ever lose my sense of formal logic. We share so much of what we've learnt from each other and our similarities and differences both work for us. Of course, we have problems in hunting around for makeup first thing in the morning and I am such a relentlessly 'early morning' bird but we can both live with those quirks."

"It sounds idyllic. You're both lucky and you both deserve it," Coope said generously, laughing appreciatively. It was then that Helen glanced at her watch and an expression of horror spread across her face.

"Good God, is that the time? I'll be shot if I'm not back in double quick time. Look here, Coope, we must meet again. That's a definite. We've got each other's mobile numbers from the soiree, right."

Impulsively, Helen kissed the other woman on the cheek, and gave her an affectionate hug. She gathered her handbag in a flurry and was off like a rocket. The animated conversation had made her quite forget how the lunchbreak had passed.

Coope stared into space for quite some time. She wanted to tell this kind woman of her troubles which went back many years to when she'd been married with a fifteen-year-old son and her a conventional enough life had been turned upside down when their son had been drowned when they were on a seaside holiday. It had happened when her eyes had been off the ball for a short period of time. In the blank patch in her life afterwards she had to deal with her own feelings of shock and horror and care for her husband's troubles until they split up shortly afterwards. It had set the pattern for the future when she had to focus on other people's troubles, not her own and only her job held her together. More recently, she had other pressing concerns she sometimes wished she could share with someone. Her natural sense of diplomacy prevented her wearing her heart on her sleeve, however much of a professional asset it was. At moments like these, she regretted that she was too accomplished at diplomacy.

From Helen's point of view, this accidental meeting was one of those positive events that made her think how better off living here in London was compared to her family home- quite apart from Nikki's nurturing love. For all she was sometimes worn down by the hustle and bustle, London did have its attractions compared with the beauties and spiritual emptiness of her father's manse in Scotland.


	16. Chapter 16

Scene Sixteen

Bodybag's determination to secure what she saw as her rights wasn't to be deterred by Helen and Nikki's bluntly honest denunciation of her own avariciousness. Even though the row was on their doorstep, the Hollambys had been publicly humiliated. That was but a temporary setback and her scheming mind was hell bent on getting what she saw as her just deserts. After all, family was family as her dear mother, Constance Winters always told her. She had once drunkenly told Di Barker this at her thirtieth anniversary dance at Larkhall Prison shortly before kissing Dominic's neck much to Bobby's disgust.

"Jim, I'm trying to find out information on a delicate matter," she said in her most obsequious manner just after the new Governing Governor Neil Grayling strode purposefully away into the blue horizon of his dreams.

"Oh aye," Fenner replied in his most guarded tones. Coming from Sylvia, the request could be bog standard trivial women's stuff that she couldn't unload on Di Barker or the bombshell she dropped on him of having let a couple of cons have the keys to the prison and landing all of them in the shit during a major police enquiry over a gangster's moll snuffing it." What's the problem?"

Fenner was relieved to find that all it involved was a bog standard search through the prison records. He volunteered to cover for her and let her grovel through all the records of briefs who had ever visited the prison. He didn't envy her the job but that was her problem.

Bodybag was on fire to pursue the job with far more thoroughness than she devoted to her official duties. Finally, she found out what she was looking for. She had to go back a year till she found what she wanted "Claire Walker of Patterson and Co Solicitors – to visit Nikki Wade." Instantly, an evil smile spread across her face. Thank goodness for gold old-fashioned thorough paperwork, she thought. It not only gave the name of the solicitor but also the practice. She was in seventh heaven. She would go down to that brief and give her what for. It was only when that surge of righteous anger started to subside that she realized that her eyes were tired from scanning countless ancient documents and she had a long shift with tea break an hour off. Blow this for a game of soldiers, she thought as she stuffed the papers back in the file any old how. Her duty was to relieve Jim who had been holding the fort for her. She scurried away out of the file room to the light of day.

*************

"You won't get into trouble, judge, on my account?" Coope asked as John straightened his tie prior to his mission for the day. His lips were tightly pursed and there was a purposeful glitter in his eye.

"No more than I get into trouble on other people's account, Coope. They are not getting away with this and moving you on. Career development, my foot."

The air swirled in the wake of the firmly shut door and the purposeful stride down the corridor. Coope could do no else than trust to the judge's long suffering, overworked guardian angel as she tapped into the e mail box on the judge's laptop to sort out correspondence.

"You're not getting away with moving Coope on, Sir Ian," John stormed in angry tones, sweeping in just as Sir Ian and Lawrence James were sharing a cup of tea.

"As you know, the circuit administrator is responsible for the good administration of the backup work that all judges need. It is his right to move staff as he sees fit," Sir Ian replied in his blandest tones while Lawrence James earnestly studied the report he had been showing Sir Ian.

"Why deal with the monkey when I can talk to the organ grinder?" John retorted through clenched teeth. "I know where this has come from and why."

"John, you have frequently lectured us over the separation of powers between the executive, the legislature and the judiciary. You have frequently been very touchy when Lawrence or I have made helpful suggestions of the bigger picture but no matter that you have gone on your own sweet way. You must understand that your P A is a minor functionary of the executive, the Lord Chancellor's Department and Lawrence James is quite within his rights to move Coope to a new position. She has after all signed an agreement ever since she started work for the Civil service that she is liable to transfer to anywhere within the United Kingdom. It is a decision which, incidentally, I support," Sir Ian replied in a superior languid tone of voice to pay John out in his own coin for once in his life.

"And as the saying goes, 'If the bike isn't broken, why fix it?' There is absolutely no need to move Coope and well you know it," John fired back, his eyes shooting flame as he started to pace back and forth in a threatening fashion. He knew very well that Sir Ian would come out with that line but he was determined not to get trapped by their context.

"In isolation, no but Lawrence must think of the needs of the LCD as a whole. There are other PA's as well as your own. He has to take the wider context."

"So why should you decide to move Coope at all? Don't you trifle with me,"stormed John.

"I repeat, this is none of your business, John," Sir Ian replied in tetchy tones. Sooner or later, John always got the other man rattled but the problem was that John's long exposure to the cut and thrust of public debate only enabled him to harness his angry passions to his cause while Sir Ian's petulant anger distracted him from his reasoning powers.

""I'm making it my business to interfere on my very limited interest. Let's be done with this play-acting, Ian. I think that you see Coope as someone who works hand in glove with me and you want to move her on to inconvenience me in my life mission to uphold justice. For a start, the reactionary dugouts like Jackson who I battled with when I was a barrister have all been pensioned off. For another, you should consider the consequences of Neil Haughton's heavy handed attempt to run the Home Office and, by extension, the judiciary as if we are a third rate banana republic. It has done a brilliant job in making my fellow judges restive and mutinous. The spirit of freedom is not just within the judiciary. I went to a very interesting seminar called 'Crime and Punishment' and you would be unpleasantly surprised by the depth of knowledge and strength of feeling."

John Deed was feeling as good as he ever had felt in the middle of a verbal shootout on Main Street. He knew that Sir Ian was weakening before his frontal assault. The glowing memory of Helen Stewart's trenchant criticisms of the prison system came back to him. Talking with her and her very remarkable partner, Nikki Wade gave him the perfect certainty that he knew his own ground. It gave him a good feeling inside him that he had been trusted by them with their confidences.

"That's your own opinion, John. The soundings we have taken point to a quite different conclusion," Sir Ian said stiffly. He was turning red in the face, as he knew only too well from his spies that John was telling the truth. John smiled for the first time since he entered the door as he pulled out the ace in his pack and laid it down in front of them.

"If you were to move Coope on, she may well ably assist one of my colleagues in the same way that she has worked wonders for me. You'll be faced with the problem of finding someone compatible with my foibles. Just who will you find to replace her?"

Sir Ian swallowed as if he was trying to digest a jagged piece of glass. He was beaten and he knew it. Perhaps it would be best to keep all the rotten eggs in one basket. He made a private note to mark Lawrence James down in his annual report as someone who was zealous in his duties but deficient in the art of thinking through his strategies. After all, he had only accepted the man's recommendations.

"You misunderstand me, John. I have the final approval on this matter and your views will be taken into consideration as you are a stakeholder in this process. Just don't you dare start interfering in what listing clerk or court usher services the administration of the courts or you will have me to reckon with."

John laughed out loud. He had got what he wanted.

"I think we have come to an understanding, Ian. I shall of course, leave the matter in your hands and, in return, shall endeavour to be polite and charming to the court officials who work hard for all our benefits. I shan't detain you from your business any longer."

With that finale, he turned on his heel to give Coope the glad news and sped out the door. Sir Ian's face twisted in anger. He knew that John Deed was always polite to the minor functionaries and wasn't offering a meaningful compromise in return.

* * *

With perfect confidence, Margaret picked up the phone to talk to her solicitor, old friend Michael Freeman who had first started the ball rolling in valuing her property. His firm was an old established firm, which had resisted the modern trend of becoming conglomerates and had stuck with the core circle of clients on whose reputation his business had been made. While she had old and trusted friends, her instinct was to stick with them. Once she got through to the young solicitor's clerk, she got down to business.

"Can I speak to Michael Freeman please?"

"Is this call business or personal?" came the guarded reply.

"Business, of course. I have used your firm on and off for decades. I would like his professional services to make my will," she replied with an edge of firmness in her voice. She wasn't going to be put off by some slip of a girl who was trying to put her off.

"I'm afraid that it isn't possible to talk to him. I have to tell you that Mr. Freeman has suffered a heart attack….."

"What." exclaimed Margaret with what she considered afterwards the most useless of explanation. Inside, she felt sick as she had made this phone call before and received the same dreaded response as another dear friend had departed this world.

"He's at home being looked after. It happened a week ago. It wasn't a major attack but he is under strict doctor's orders to take it easy for a while."

"I see. Of course I understand what you're saying," she said in an other worldly tone of voice."

"That's why I asked if the call was personal or business. You sounded as if you knew him like all his old clients. The office has been turned upside down with him not being around"

Margaret couldn't remember what she said or did but she got straight onto the local florists and arranged a wreath. Realizing that it was the sort of conventional gesture expected of people in her situation, she phoned up for a taxi to visit her old friend. She concluded that it was as well that she didn't trust herself to drive as the more the news sunk in the more she felt shaken up inside and didn't want an accident.

Arriving at her destination, the neat genteel large terrace house greeted her where she had been before a long time back. The nervous edgy woman that was his wife greeted her as hospitably as she could in the circumstances and disappeared into the kitchen to make a cup of tea for them all. Her old friend was lying in a capacious armchair and his feet up on a stool. A pile of letters lay on little mahogany table at the side of him. He grinned up at her and offered his cheek to be kissed.

"Well, Margaret, you don't see me at my brightest. I always was a foolhardy so and so. I always saw retirement as a state of living death. I suppose that it's caught up on me."

"And I had finally come to see you to make out my will at last after all your badgering over the years," Margaret said, her voice breaking with emotion and dabbing at her eyes.

"I suppose you've found a solution to your problem in who to leave your money to apart from your money grubbing niece and that nasty piece of work of her husband," Michael answered with a sharp look in his eye. Old instincts were about to take over and make him mentally reach for his lawbooks when a warning look from his wife deterred him.

"You know very well that you'll have to look for another solicitor. You have to find someone you can trust though that's not so easy these days with the up and coming moneymakers."

Suddenly the idea came to Margaret. The answer was so obvious and was staring me in the face.

"I think I have the answer. I have recently got to know two young friends of mine, Helen and Nikki who are very dear to me. I intend to leave the vast bulk of my estate to them. Helen's best friend is a solicitor who I've met and taken to. You don't think I'm totally mad, do you?"

Michael chuckled encouragingly at his old friend's bold suggestion, which warmed Margaret inside for the first time since she had heard the bad news. As she enlarged on her plan, Michael's instinct was confirmed. Besides, he knew her of old, that she didn't make decisions lightly and besides, her judgment, however unconventional, had the knack of being right. He trusted to her instincts over conventional, cold reason any day.


	17. Chapter 17

Scene SeventeenIn her quiet, imperturbable way, Claire sat back in her chair and listened to Margaret as a fount of ideas came out of her brain and into the air as words. She could sense that ever since her partner Julia had died, the older woman's worries had had no form of resolution so that she had bottled up her worries. Now there was a solution, Margaret outlined her plan succinctly and clearly. A sense of her own immortality through Nikki and Helen drove her onwards"Your basic plan is perfectly fine, Margaret. Speaking technically as I must, there is nothing to stop you willing your estate to whoever you decide and in whichever way you see fit. Knowing the background between you and your niece, it might be as well to the arguments that Mrs Hollamby might raise to best check the strength of your position. It is certain that you have absolutely made no trust to Mrs Hollamby in any shape or form. Her only presumption is that, as she is your only surviving blood relative, she has a call on your estate. The reality is best shown in the 'Principle of Advancement.' Lewin on Trusts written in 1964, which puts it this way.

"Where a parent purchases real or personal property in the name of his child, he is presumed to do so by way of advancement. The presumption of a resulting trust which would have arisen if the purchase had been made in the name of a stranger is rebutted and the property is presumed to be a gift." The presumption of advancement can, of course, be rebutted by evidence that no gift was intended....In the absence of evidence to the contrary, property bought by a husband in the sole name of his wife or intended wife is presumed to be a gift to her."

In other words, only if you purchased property held in your joint names or in her own name can she conceivably get her hands on it."

"Thank God she's kept her distance over the years in case she was contaminated by my presence. I'm grateful for the protection of the law even if it is dreadfully heterosexual." observed Margaret dryly.

Claire burst out into laughter and shook her head in amazement at Margaret's witticism. She had obviously carefully followed the dry as dust argument.

"You're right, Margaret. I passionately believe that there should be a Civil Partnership Act, which would drag the law in this area into the twentieth century. Bringing it into the twenty first century would help…………….anyway, I must continue on the basis of the law as it stands. The only other question that might arise is your state of mind at the time you make your will and it is quite evident to me that you are highly aware of your actions. I am thankful for this medical report from your family doctor that makes this abundantly plain, that you are in surprisingly good physical and mental health for a woman of your age……..as I know personally from that excellent soiree."

At this point, after Claire Walker had resumed her dry and legal presentation, her manner was softened as the real woman behind the professional qualification came to the fore. "Additionally, Mrs Hollamby has never lived in your household which might have favoured her claim. After long and careful consideration, there are only a few matters I would want to add to your original ideas which it is as well to consider."

"Please continue, Claire, I'm interested."

"There are two possibilities that have to be considered. The first is the unlikely possibility should Nikki and Helen separate. There has to be a 'jointly and severally' provision made that, to put it simply, whatever happens, each is entitled to half of the joint share. The fact that both women are scrupulously fair and even handed whom I'd trust more than one or two of my colleagues is legally though not practically immaterial."

"I'm guided by you in this respect," Margaret said in deliberately precise tones, her face turning rigid in shock at the thought.

"The other possibility is whether, to put it legally, whether or not there is any issue of their union. I'm not sure if you know that recent medical advances mean that they could have children by what is known as "intra vitral fertilization" or IVF for short which means that a lesbian who wants to be a mother doesn't have to go down a route to conceive which goes against her sexuality"

Margaret's eyes glowed in wonder. Some lesbian angel must have directed the scientific mind to save women from the miseries that some of her maternally minded contemporaries had undergone. When she about it, she would lovesuch ahappy event to occur to her friends should they wish it.

"I want that provision to be there with all my heart. If I was unlucky and wasn't destined to witness such a happy event, I would be thrilled thatIcould be of benefit to them. That really cheers me up…..they will see it as a possibility to be provided for. I mean the choice is up to them."

"You can relax, Margaret. I know Helen of old and she will grab at the logic of the idea at the very least and Nikki won't be far behind her. That alone will persuade them."

"Then it is done, Claire. Once this is complete, I can live out the rest of my life the best way I know how."

The mischievous twinkle in Margaret's eye made Claire not willing to put anything past this remarkable woman. She prayed that she would have the same get up and go as her client and friend was displaying. In the meantime, business had been speedily rattled through and all that was needed was to fix up the appointment.

***************

The following day, Claire Walker was working quietly away in her office on the first floor. She was busy working on the draft of the will in conformity with the time honoured florid legal phrases required. In a corner of her desk was a silver framed photograph of Jenny, smiling gently on her. The atmosphere was peaceful and tranquil and she could bury herself in her work with the company of her clerk who worked steadily away for her even-tempered and considerate boss.

In the downstairs waiting room, there came the sudden disturbance of a woman's angry voice, demanding to see 'Claire Walker' and that she would 'give her a piece of her mind' Instantly, Claire was alarmed as the office wasn't designed to repel aggressive intruders. She knew that the polite receptionist would be brushed aside, especially as she could distinguish the grating sounds of a man telling 'Sylv not to let them get away with it.' Instinctively, she knew who her visitors were and moved her phone within hand's reach and shoved the paperwork in her desk. The clomping sounds of heavy heels climbing the staircase grew louder.

"You haven't any appointments booked today, Claire," her clerk nervously informed her.

" Just as I thought," Claire answered in a deadpan voice just as the door was swung violently back on its hinges.

"Which one of you is Claire Walker?" demanded the intruder, glaring at her. She was a middle-aged woman wearing Sensible shoes and a Sensible Coat. The man next to him had grey hair and Important Sideboards.

"I know you haven't an appointment so just who the hell are you and what are you doing bursting in my office like this?" Claire demanded with

"I'm Sylvia Hollamby and this is my husband Bobby," came the self important reply." We're here on behalf of my Aunt Margaret as her interests are being threatened and you are colluding with it."

"Margaret who?" came the bland, infuriating reply. Claire had taken the measure of the other woman and felt calmer for it. In reverting to her normal tactic of keeping cool and controlled in an argument while her opponent tried to bluster, she felt as most comfortable and strongest. The only snag was that, as a beneficiary of the will, she couldn't be denied knowledge of it.

"Margaret Winters of course. I know that you are doing the dirty work for a couple of sneaking lesbians," and here she let her tongue and lips linger in disgust on the word," inveigle their way into my aunt's affections and snitch her estate when the sad day comes, as it must, when she passes on. My husband is an undertaker and we know how short lives are in this veil of tears that is called life."

Claire reached for her mug of cold coffee. Even that tasted better than the foul mixture of sanctimonious hypocrisy. In her own quiet way, she hated double standards just as much as her fierier old friend, Helen Stewart.

"I've heard all about you, Mrs Hollamby, never mind how. I'll put my cards on the table. Margaret Winters is superbly in control of her faculties and made her will in full knowledge of what she is doing. She has been ignored and shunned by your family for decades because of your bigoted attitude towards her sexuality. She's been recently widowed and you never made the slightest effort to comfort her."

"Widowed?" echoed Bodybag incredulously, the expression on her face ignorantly vacant."But she's not married, certainly not in the eyes of God."

"You'll find that same sex couples have quite as much consciousness of loving fidelity as opposite sex couples. I know that from my own experience." Here, Claire smiled slightly and knowingly, moving the photograph for this bigot to see. She was amused how slowly it took for the penny to drop and Bodybag's lips made a round shape in astonishment. After all, Claire Walker was conventionally pretty in appearance.

"You," exploded the woman." I might have known."

"God may be more understanding than you might think. After all, he's been dreadfully misquoted down the centuries by puritan killjoys," Claire retorted, starting to enjoy herself.

"You're a disgrace to your profession. You're immoral," Bodybag harangued Claire, her face red with anger, her inward sense of impotence exacerbating her fury. "I'll see you in court. In my professional experience, what you're doing is nothing short of legalized robbery. You're probably getting a rake off from this deal "

"You can't get away with this." Bobby Hollamby said at last.

"This has gone far enough," Claire said, sensing that a line had to be drawn." Either you leave now or I'll be forced to call the police. I have right on my side. After all, you wouldn't want all your neighbours seeing you being carted off in a police car going hell for leather, would you?"

That last thrust did the trick as Claire expected it did. Both Hollambies turned a delicate shade of purple but the deep-rooted fear of 'what would the neighbours say?' froze them with horror facing this determined woman. They stood up in unison with a parting, face saving shot of 'you'll be hearing further from our solicitor', banged the door behind them in a fit of petulance, stalked off down the steps and whooshed out.

"Jean, could you check that they've gone," Claire quietly asked of her secretary. She had known all along, that the quietly determined Claire would come out on top in the confrontation The other woman tiptoed down the staircase half expecting to see a scene of devastation and was mildly surprised to see everything perfectly normal. The receptionist profusely apologized to her and Jean promptly smoothed them away. She was a receptionist, not a bouncer and the office was wide open to a determined intruder.

"All's clear anyway," she said to herself seeing the total absence of a black hearse dominating the street. Upstairs, Claire Walker reached for the phone to make some calls, Coope being on the other end of the line to take the first call.

.


	18. Chapter 18

Scene Eighteen

Sure enough on Friday morning, the large business room of the solicitor's practice where Claire worked was suffused by an atmosphere of bubbling good spirits. This wasn't just the rehearsal for an apathetic grave but a social gathering bent on securing Margaret's rights to secure her posterity. Claire's indignant account of the Bodybags' aggressive invasion of her space incensed them all and added a touch of defiance to the proceedings.

Trisha was dressed in her best elegant light blue suit while Sally Anne favoured smart blue jeans, high heels and dark jacket. Nikki and Helen's smart dress sense was overlaid by an unexpected shyness at having their future assured at some date which they wanted pushed back as far as possible, wishing their friend the Indian summer of her life. John was dressed in his best blue suit and was amiability personified, happily mingling in congenial company, Coope being briefed to be suitably vague to incoming unwelcome callers.

"It's really good of you to be executor as you must get pestered for advice. We know it's a long term commitment."

"That's really no problem. I didn't need much persuading from Coope. In any case, I sense that our mutual friendship has already made us feel comfortable enough."

All the women smiled warmly at this guy's unostentatious willingness to make good on his words.

"It must be like asking a concert pianist to play 'chopsticks,'" joked Helen nervously.

"You might be right if it weren't that the piano might be sabotaged. Still, they won't get anywhere. Claire's suggestion of witnesses and my involvement is an eminently sound precaution. Still, I don't want to steal Claire's thunder."

As the moment was now right, Claire gestured to the highly polished vintage mahogany table in the large old-fashioned suite. She had smiled at John as he held forth as she highly respected his learning. He emphasized his closing remark by gesturing to her in an uncharacteristically self-effacing way that this was her show.

"Here are the provisions of the will of which there are two copies. The provisions of the will are basically short and simple. Mrs Hollamby will receive a flat one thousand five hundred pounds and no more. At one time, Margaret had intended to leave her a quarter of her savings but after harassing Helen, Nikki and me about the matter, Margaret decided quite rightly that bullying shouldn't be allowed to pay," Claire attempted to say in a level tone of voice except that the corners of her lips curved in a slight smile despite her best attempts to be serious and businesslike. The house and contents plus the balance of her savings go to Nikki and Helen. The precise form is 'jointly and severally' indicating the legacy both to them as a couple and individually a fifty fifty split……."

"That suits us fine. That's been the way we've lived our lives from the very start," broke in Nikki eagerly.

"……and as a modern progressive lawyer, the clause about 'and such heirs of your union' provides for your heirs, should you go down the IVF route. This is, after all, an inclusive legal document, intended to provide for all possible eventualities."

As Claire spoke in dry tones, Margaret smiled on benignly. Helen and Nikki flushed with pleasure at the law giving its blessing on them. It reminded them of that far off time of that intimate heart to hear in the Arts Room at Larkhall Prison. As Helen had laid her head on Nikki's shoulder, she had talked about her vague dreams of children and Nikki had said that 'there were ways.' She hadn't then known what Nikki had meant but recently, all things had become possible with all the time to pursue them.

"It's early days in our relationship as we're still catching up with that we've missed on the inside but in time, who knows. It feels marvellous to be legally provided for and, well, validated for whatever we choose," Helen said, her voice breaking with emotion.

Margaret smiled on the two women as the full implications of the will sank home. She knew that they weren't talking about the money. She couldn't help thinking that if only her old friends had the legal and cultural rights that existed today. The howling gale of social disapproval was complemented by the chill absence of even a shred of legal rights. She and Julia had been strong minded to survive but other couples had crumbled under these pressures.

"I'll give you both a chance to study the will for yourselves and, if you're happy with it, I'll ask Trisha and Sally-Anne to do the same. After that, Margaret will sign the will, I'll countersign followed by yourselves," Claire said gravely.

Each woman looked at the rolling legal language of 'give, devise and bequeath' and all the complicated subordinate clauses which jumbled themselves before their eyes until they disciplined themselves to thread her way through the document, Helen and Nikki became anxious at their friend's terrific generosity until she intercepted their thoughts.

"I mean every word of what's written down. Claire talked me carefully through it. I know exactly what I'm doing. You must know that I've been the like this all my life."

The antique clock ticked solemnly as each person signed the document with great care. This felt like a marriage certificate.

"Finally, it goes without saying that I don't need to explain to you, judge, of your responsibilities. It lies safe in your hands."

Suddenly, everyone started smiling. The deed was done and a shaft of sunlight illuminated the dimness of the room. It lightened the tone of the occasion. Time had passed in an astonishingly slow deliberate fashion. Claire looked at her watch and it was midday. She suggested they adjourn to the quiet café across the road and a murmur of agreement voiced the concensus.

"It strange but I can hear ghost voices in my mind telling me that I've committed the most disgraceful act of my life, one of a long line of disgraces and do you know, I'm glad. For some strange reason, my break with my family comes very strongly to my mind right now."

Nikki saw the strange flicker of emotions on her friend's face and in her eyes. Margaret had talked about this in passing. This wasn't nearly enough to deal with this emotionally.

"Do you want to tell us about it. Something tells me the time and occasion is right. You don't have to if you don't want to."

Margaret knew beyond doubt that Nikki was right, A faraway look came into her eyes as the years rolled back and they were transported back in time.

*************

Dark, surly clouds hung over the town where Margaret grew up. It foreshadowed storms on the way.

Over the church spire, the distinctive accelerated drone of a high performance engine caused the cloth capped heads of men to turn skywards as a few drops of rain fell. The green and brown bullet shape and elliptical wings of a Supermarine Spitfire dipped below the cloud cover and winged its way yonder. Many patriotic hearts were stirred by this tangible reminder that there was a fighting war on. Otherwise, the war impacted on ordinary Northern people in the dreary queues for the food ration and the rigidly enforced blackout for even a small town as far north as this. The newspapers recorded that for the major cities 'Britain could take it' while, for the womenfolk, many men had donned the uniform and were far away. This caused problems for some but for the last one or two years this had been a convenient cover for Margaret until her luck had run out. She was headed for her own conflagration

Her family had found out the real reason why she wasn't 'keen on boys' and preferred the ever-changing company of her female friends. She was eighteen years old now and had just finished her schooling while her twenty-one year old sister was dutifully doing her bit for the war effort while dreaming of her ideal man. She wanted to get married, settle down and raise a family like her mother had done. After years of getting away with it, Margaret had been caught out while passionately embracing a newcomer to the neighbourhood, one Julia Desmond.

"So this is what we've brought you up to become," her mother shouted at her while the patriotic picture on the wall of Winston Churchill pointing his phallic cigarette at them, and looking on grimly."You and your 'lesby pals.' It's been going on under my very roof. How long have you been deceiving your poor mother, your father and your sister?"

"You mean when did I first fall in love with another woman?" counter questioned Margaret, quiet on the outside but seething with anger.

"How long have you indulged in your unnatural behaviour?" shouted back her mother while Constance looked on without saying a word.

"If you must know, Victoria was my first lover, when I stayed overnight at her parent's house. We would still be together except that she denied her true identity to herself thanks to her family. 'What will the neighbours think?' I can hear them saying to her. That broke my heart and you never noticed." Unknown to her inquisitors, the words were painfully wrenched from her lonely sense of heartbreak. Margaret couldn't bring herself to voice the bitter truth that Victoria Steeples was on the way to becoming Mrs John Spencer, virtuous housewife.

"But you were children then. I can't believe what I'm hearing," came the reply as Mrs Winters put her hands to her head in horror at this shameful revelation and this unseemly display of dramatics.

"You wanted to hear the truth so I'm telling it to you. I have had other lovers since then."

Mrs Winters screamed loudly as if to exorcise unclean spirits. Constance glared at Margaret for upsetting her mother and shaming their family. This incident was branded on the older sister's mind forever.

"There's one thing I know. You can't stay under the same roof as us. You can pack your bags tonight and find somewhere else to live. You're the black sheep of the family," spluttered her mother.

"Excuse me but what have you got against black sheep? Aren't they all god's creatures?"

"It's an expression. It means you're a disgrace."

This was the end of the line. She might as well tell her mother the secret that she'd shared with Julia. Since she'd come to stay at the local hotel, exuding androgynous glamour, Margaret had been swept off her feet. In the fledgling lesbian community, she was a real catch, and not just because she was rich.

"Well, as it happens, I've been offered work in London by a friend of mine. I had been planning to tell you, as I know you wanted me recruited for the war effort but I have other ideas. I'll have to move a little quicker than I had intended," Margaret replied with strange outward nonchalance, given the electric tensions flaring round the room. Inwardly, she was shaking inside in case these strangers dared insult the love of her life.

"So, you're running away to live in sin with that creature wearing those man's clothes who Mrs Glossop saw you kissing. Is she your patron?"

"Not quite right, mother. We were kissing each other and yes, she's come to rescue me from a fate worst than death, my family. I'm going upstairs to pack my belongings and, if I can borrow the telephone, I'll ask Julia to fetch me and I'll be out of your hair."

Margaret could still feel the burning sense of anger and sense of rejection as she could vividly recall filling every last morsel of space with her precious belongings while Constance stood, glaring with disapproval. Looking back on it, she seriously wondered if she sprang from the same family. The one light in her life was being in Julia's arms in the little wayside hotel. It was fortunate that the upheaval of war meant that family life was disrupted with the menfolk going off to fight a war so that the prospect of two women sharing a room was greeted by the owner with the favourite saying 'well, there's a war on.' Besides, he needed the custom.

.

"As my mother always said, you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." her mother told Constance when Margaret had gone, , meaning that she should be absolved from guilt at the way that Margaret had grown up so badly badly. These and other family sayings were great comfort to them and would steer them in their future lives.

***********

Tears were running down Nikki's face and she put her arm on Margaret's shoulder as their friend finished her story. Nikki had been there before.


	19. Chapter 19

Scene Nineteen

"You know, we were lucky in drawing up the will in the way we did," Claire observed to Helen and Nikki, smartly bringing them all back to the present." If Mrs Hollamby…."

"Call her Bodybag," joked Nikki impishly amidst the familiar clatter of a busy café." Everyone else does. Even Helen has got over all her years of official correctness and has started calling her that."

"I always wanted to, Nikki," grinned Helen while Margaret laughed." I knew all along what prisoners called her behind her back."

"Very well, the Bodybags could have been smarter in consulting me with a view to obtaining power of attorney over Margaret's affairs. She wouldn't have had a cat's chance in hell but a consultation would have precluded me from acting on your behalf as there would have been a conflict of interests."

"Jesus," Helen exclaimed as the shock of what might have been hit her. It scared her find out that only an opponent's stupidity or laziness had saved her from ruin.

"So we should be grateful for Bodybag's slaving away at Larkhall, getting Bobby's tea on the table and helping him run his business……and of course her natural laziness," observed Nikki dryly to a hearty chorus of laughter. It seemed neat irony that the woman's most unpleasant characteristics had worked against her in this fashion.

********

After the gathering dispersed and went their different ways, Helen and Nikki dived back into the reality of their everyday jobs. Each of them was unusually quiet and said nothing to their workmates that they were to inherit a fair sized fortune and a mansion. The solemn events of the morning felt as if they had been part of a particularly haunting and vivid waking dream, which had faded now they were back in their normal surroundings. Surely nothing had really changed in their day-to-day lives, they kept telling themselves. At the end of the day, they couldn't wait to get back home and lives, and pool their thoughts together. "After this strange day today, I feel like a takeaway, Nikki," Helen declared, flinging her coat off onto the coat hook in the hall and diving for the living room sofa. Nikki raised her eyebrows but reached for her mobile to conjure up a pizza. Then she nipped into the kitchen as the irresistible image floated into her mind of a 'nice cup of tea', ridiculously dated though it sounded. Humming softly to herself, she brought in the tea tray, accompanied by a grateful smile from Helen who lay sprawled on the sofa. As Nikki laid the tray on the side table, Helen's arms reached upward for her. With a murmur of pleasure, Nikki laid the full length of her body next to her lover and kissed and embraced each other slowly and lovingly for several minutes until Nikki rolled off and onto the floor.

"If you had to choose between sex and a nice cup of tea, which would you choose, babes,' asked Nikki teasingly, standing up and reaching for the teapot.

"I'd choose both as I'm greedy. You should know that by now. So long as my tea's not too cold," Helen answered with perfect aplomb, playfully turning things around.

"So you like it hot and steaming then?"

"Both. You should know what I want right now, babes."

"Not both at the same time, dearest. Besides, my throat's parched."

Nikki offered to be mother and carefully poured two cups of tea. Something of Margaret was rubbing off on because of the delicacy with which she moved. They lay back silently, enjoying the silence. They had reached the level of intimacy when such occurrences were natural. They drank the tea slowly with no need to hurry.

"So, you tell me how we should feel about Margaret's will then because I'm struggling? You must excuse me messing around earlier on. I was only messing around," Nikki said with her particular form of courtesy.

"As if I didn't know you by now," Helen tenderly replied. A feeling of relief swept through Nikki as she felt as if she was deliciously drowning in the depths of her lover's amazing green eyes.

"The problem is that you're the proudest woman I've ever known, Nikki. You really do not like to accept charity."

"I guess that's the top and bottom of it. I've always grafted, worked my socks off for everything I got in life."

"You mean, it seems too easy?" challenged Helen."Look at it this way, Nikki. I remember the way Margaret talked us into this will in the first place. That's says everything, doesn't it the way I've put it. Any averagely selfish greedy people would have snapped her hand off and not think twice about it, but not us. We're always questioning whether or not we're Doing the Right Thing."

"We really have the knack of doing things the hard way," said Nikki with a wry smile on her face.

"Margaret is a smart woman. She knew what we are like from very early on. Just imagine, a lifetime of really struggling to be who she wants to be. You can see how she's a sociable, outgoing woman whose mind is very open is very flexible. Dare I say it, she's not a million miles different from us with a lot more experience of the world. We're kindred souls. It means that even if we have doubts as to the rightness of ……the inheritance…..she hasn't. She very craftily persuaded us that the inheritance would be a trust. That shows her way of thinking."

"I suppose it isn't as if we're wishing her life away. She knows and we know that we want our friendship to run onwards into the future. The only thing's different from, say Trisha and Sally Anne is that we feel the future's limited."

" So we carry on the same we always have but Margaret knows now that her future's safe with us. That's the best way I can reason our way round this."

Nikki's incredible brown eyes misted over as her love swelled out to embrace this remarkable woman of hers. This moment told her how Helen's incisive logic had that knack of cutting through her emotional hang-ups that she'd tangled herself up in. Of course, this will won't come into effect next week or the week after that. It would take place whenever and in the meantime they would pursue this remarkable friendship with her.

"Come here darling," whispered Nikki to her lover. It was just at this moment when the buzzer on the front door sounded.

"Who the hell's coming round now?" snapped Nikki irritably. Her desires were overflowing and mingled with a pure tenderness for her partner.

"The pizza delivery man, darling. You did phone."

"Oh yeah. So I did. That was ages ago."

"It was only twenty minutes ago. Not bad for their standards," answered a grinning Helen at Nikki's foibles.

"Psychically it was. A lot can happen in twenty minutes," came Nikki's gentle reply without any reproach in her voice. Helen understood.

************

The two women had spent a lazy evening in with a mental reservation to go out to 'Chix' on Saturday night. They had split a bottle of wine between them and eaten the pizza. They had briefly toyed with the vague hope of watching TV when they realized that TV programmers considered that they were catering to a mindless audience who wanted to get pissed on cheap TV and cheap lager. This was not for them so Helen ferreted around in the CD rack for something in line with the need for a gentle healing process and after due consideration, a Tori Amos CD fitted the bill. That sweet siren voice with unconventional shifts of melody over a lilting backbeat and her piano chords seemed just right. It wasn't seduction music but music for sweet introspection to draw out the most delicate of emotions out of them. Both felt overdressed for the occasion.

"We've come a long way together, babes," Helen said in a smoky tone of voice." There was a time when we weren't allowed to lie here, my fingers stroking your stomach like this and I had to say those really irritating words 'Gotta go.'

"Don't remind me of that, babes. That's the first time you've said those words for ages," Nikki half groaned as her fingers of her left hand stroked Helen's hand. Her shirt hung loosely unbuttoned, exposing her white lacy bra and her generous breasts while looking at Helen's half exposed body. She sipped another mouthful from the glass of wine to the right of her. Only the sidelights cast a subdued light in the cosy room leaving each other's faces shrouded in mysterious shadows while illuminating the lines of their strong features.

"Can you remember the White Rabbit in 'Alice in Wonderland?'" questioned Helen which made the other woman grin at Helen's relentless honesty." I had this peculiar instinct to hurry everywhere. It wasn't just the job though I used to put in some insane hours. It was that the intensity of my feelings made me want to run away, very stupid of me,"

"And now, darling?' asked Nikki as her fingers traced a delicate pattern in moving up the smaller woman's body while her other hand stroked Helen's hair.

"I don't need to go anywhere, sweetheart. Everything I'll ever need is right here. All I've got to do is reach out."

Helen edged sideways and wrapped her arms round Nikki. She breathed in her lover's perfume and gazed into those deep brown eyes that she could lose herself in. She loved every detail of her lover's face and she could listen all day to the mellow tone of her voice. Softly and slowly she laid her mouth on Nikki's and gloried in the texture of gently kissing each other. They moved inwards and slid their legs against each other. The only sounds in the room were the rhythms of each other's breathing, the gentle pulses of the music and the woman's voice coiling its way round their song.

"It feels as if we've always been together, sweetheart. I can't imagine living any other way," Helen said much later when they lay in bed together. A trail of clothes and underwear led its way from the sofa to their bedroom. There was a time to be fussy and organized but this wasn't one of them on this reflective evening.

"Do you know, this is the first time we've talked about our future, even if it was in legalistic terms? I've been trying to work out this mood we've both been in and I think I know what it is."

"Go on, tell me, babes," Helen urged, lying on top of Nikki and slowly stroking her lover's left breast, enjoying every curve.

"I've been all over the place today emotionally speaking. The way Margaret's family treated her like shit just for the way she wanted to live her life really got to me. It's only the way we're living right now. There are so many parallels. It might as well be Bodybag talking- for God's sake it was her bloody grandmother talking. In her time, there was no 'Diva' on sale, no 'Chix', no 'lesbian lifestyle.' It was women like her that fought so that at least I had it that little bit easier when I went through the same shit as she did."

"It's only recently that I realized that my father's voice was talking to me only I never knew it. This was when I started to realize what my feelings were for you. What I thought were my words were his," murmured Helen, resting her cheek against cool bare skin and curling herself around her lover.

"And now?" Nikki murmured softly. Her fingers were gently stroking her lover just as much as her voice did.

"I'm free to define my destiny with you the way Margaret did with Julia," Helen said in husky tones. "We really were on our own due to circumstances and now we can embrace our freedoms."

A surge of pleasure rose inside Nikki as she felt the smaller woman's delicate movements around her. She exhaled sharply as those full lips caressed her nipple slowly and lovingly. Nikki arched her back as they moved in slow motion round each other and their hands and fingers lovingly caressed each other. These days, Helen knew just what a sensualist she was. She had naturally absorbed from Nikki the vital knowledge that savouring pleasures could be disengaged from feelings of guilt if the situation was right. Helen's tongue and lips gradually moved their way down this impossibly tall woman, tasted the intimate insides of her thighs before seeking out those juices awaiting her. The rhythms of their bodies matched the sense of symmetry in their lives as they carried on a noble tradition. The events of recent weeks had made this real to them.

They had all the time in the world for their future. They knew it.


	20. Chapter 20

Scene Twenty

At the end of the day when Coope left John hard at work in his chambers on another case, she put on her sensible coat and made her way out of the courtroom. While Coope passed out of John's consciousness till the next morning, she headed for her well worn route to the underground station and, ticket in hand, took the usual route to the suburban stop at Cricklewood, upon which she walked the familiar one hundred yards to her genteel semi-detached home. It was one amongst a number of similar houses, all with white lace curtains drawn tight. She looked like just another comfortably respectable middle aged woman and she was content to let appearances be deceptive since, to her neighbours, she did an 'office job in the city.' And indeed, this appeared to be so as she joined the stream of minor functionaries in their quest for the rush hour tube in the morning.

She was long used to handling many tasks in her life like well-oiled machinery, whether at home or at work. She slipped easily into preparing the traditional dinner of traditional meat and vegetables for when her partner was due to be home. She liked the comfortable feeling of a conservative natural order as opposed to her cool-headed risk taking in being willing accomplice to the judge, that turbulent upsetter of institutions and self-important politicians and civil servants. Whistling comfortably to herself, working to the slightly elderly but still functioning cooker, she dropped the potato and carrot peelings in the wheelie bin and anticipated that the sound of the door opening let in one Miss Elaine Porter. She and Coope had originally been close friends when they were in the Army together and after she had separated from her husband, started living with her. Elaine was tall, well groomed and her dark hair was cut in a very precise bob. Her wire-rimmed spectacles didn't conceal her rather strained anxious expression on her face. As she entered the kitchen, her manner betrayed the normal burden of work but the fair-haired woman detected the brooding disagreement between them. It had lingered between them for a good number of days without ever being resolved.

"No riots or revolutions at work, dear?" Elaine asked, kissing the fair-haired woman on her cheek. Rita was not deceived by her attempt at diplomacy though she knew that her partner's alter ego at work had a secret fascination for her. To the cautious woman, it was a forbidden world that was both enticing yet impossible. Rita Cooper judged that this particular incident and the emotional fallout needed to be resolved.

"It's actually peaceful for a change, dear. The judge has very kindly stamped on that wretched man, Lawrence James's attempt to move me her off my present post. Mind you, he'll do something outrageous and the hounds of hell will be howling at the door again."

She declined to say that because of this, she felt better able to deal with her problems at home.

"I'm glad for you, Rita," Elaine said with an obvious effort." It's only right that something is going right in your life."

"You're still bothered about me accompanying John to the soiree. I can tell it a mile away."

"Not before we have a nice cup of tea first," came Elaine's tight voiced reply.

The teaspoon clanked noisily in her cup as she stirred the cup, drinking in silence for the next five minutes until Rita broke the ice. .

"You know of course, dear, that John hasn't the slightest interest in me whatsoever. I honestly feel that I was his security in confronting a room full of lesbians. You do believe me, Elaine?" she asked in her gentlest tones.

"It's not really that, Rita. I really know how faithful you are," Elaine confessed with a slight grimace of conflicting emotions." You know that we agreed to be discreet when I moved in with you. We've got away with it for the last few years with being seen as a pair of middle-aged female companions. You know that the neighbours are worse inquisitors than the Russian secret police."

All Elaine's resentment of her lot came out in the way she spat out the last few words as she fidgeted in her chair. She pointed through the kitchen windows to silently make her point. Rita acknowledged that the trim wooden fences and hedges of suburbia barred off one semi from another and the house that was attached it was safely soundproofed off from its neighbors. Her experience of the glorious freedom of the soiree emphasized to Rita how stifling her reality was. For years, she had sensed how Elaine's insides were being constricted by her fear of social exposure. She hadn't found a handle with which to allay those fears which tightened round her like a steel coil. Rita's advantage over Elaine was that she knew that the provincial majority was in the wrong.

"You know that there's more to it than that. We can't let these Little Englanders rule our lives."

"That's why I gave into our compromise when you accompanied John to the soiree. You got your freedom for the night. I thought you'd feel better for the break."

"Meaning that once I'd slipped the chains off for the night, I'd put the shackles back on and feel comfortable for the next ten years, not counting the Coope that backs up the judge in his tussles with the establishment. I can't feel free while you're in chains, dear. I want us both to feel free."

"But you want to change the rules of the game, yes?" Elaine asked, a slight tremble in her voice as she stood up, empty teacup in her hand. Her eyes flitted all over the place as she paced round the room, revealing to Rita what frightened her partner the most. .

"We were born in the wrong era, Rita," Elaine said severely, to batten down her own disturbing thoughts." Do you know, I discreetly bought a copy of 'Diva' in some anonymous newsagent as if it was a pornographic magazine. I had it sneaked inside a copy of the 'Daily Mail' like any right thinking British citizen. I really wanted to see if it had any answer for lives, Rita but what did I find?"

"Some interesting articles about the modern world that you don't read in the Daily Mail," observed Rita Cooper dryly with that slight smile." I've got a few back issues."

"It was all lifestyle and glamour orientated. I'm sure that's the world your friends live in, the one you want to drag us into. It's not our place."

"Then what is, darling? Getting older, more afraid and embittered as we get older. We really do need to visit Trisha and Sally's club 'Chix'. I've spent an evening with them. They're good people who'll accept us, as we are, without the slightest of trying to make us feel inferior. That's what you're really afraid of."

It did the trick. Elaine leaned back into her partner's comforting arms, which were wrapped round her stomach as she breathed out all the tension out of her body. Her lover's gentle touch and delicately healing sense of diplomacy never failed to make her feel better. She secretly knew all along that she wanted to be carefully coaxed into breaking out of their self-imposed prison. She placed her hands on her lover's and moved them upwards to feel her breasts. Though she no longer had the perfect body of her youth, she did feel that this was her best feature and liked to be touched there. As she felt pleasant sensations run through her system, she knew she felt the constrictions as much as Rita did. It was just that she got more tensed up about the matter and her partner had that bit more nerve than she did.

"You know something, dear, you're underrated and underpaid. You ought to have a top job in the diplomatic service."

"As if, Elaine. I'm just the perfect servant."

"And you know just how much sway Jeeves had over Bertie Wooster. Turn round and face me," Elaine soothingly commanded.

Rita felt emboldened and nervous at the same time to sketch out her next move now Elaine had swung behind her plan. It hadn't come a moment too soon. She had dressed for the soiree in the kind of her formal dark suit that she wore for work and knew that Coope would fit in nicely into this crowd, especially as Nikki and Helen knew that persona. This was different and she opted to phone Trisha whose mobile number, amongst others, she had obtained that night in a feverish hurry for which purpose was unclear at the time.

"Hi Coope," Trisha called out in the friendliest of tones." It's great to hear from you as I was wondering about getting in contact with you again. What can I do for you?"

"Err, it's a little bit difficult as this is the first night I've been out for ages. I didn't mention that night that I have a partner, a female partner," Rita corrected herself emphatically as she saw the danger of misinterpretation open up just in time." She didn't feel comfortable enough to come out and join us but I've since persuaded her to think about coming to some suitable event at Chix if there is one."

"That's great. I've got the ideal suggestion. Put me right if you think I'm barking up the wrong tree but would you be interested in a 'seventies night' or perhaps something more modern would suit you better? Even on normal night, it's surprising how many different songs get played. It's not all club music."

Rita exhaled her breath in huge relief and a broad grin split her face. Trisha's warmhearted encouraging tones gave her the shot of confidence she needed.

"Elaine and I would love to but there's only one thing that needs seeing to and that's some kind of advice as to what to wear. We're afraid that we'll feel out of place, Elaine especially. Do you know how long it is since we've have been out?" questioned Rita with quiet pride in the conjunction of names to a new friend of theirs.

"Too long, Coope," laughed Trisha, Sally Anne grinning as she got the gist of the conversation." Just you leave that to us."

*************

As prompted by Rita, Trisha and Sally Anne appeared at their most decorous for the delicate sensitivities of Rita and Elaine's neighbours, not appearing to be too raucous or over affectionate. They made their way up the stairs and made a beeline for the wardrobes of the two older women and their tentative display of a few dresses suspended on their hangers. They ran an expert eye over the two women's best features and contemplated the wardrobe with interest. It traced a trailing support of various clothing trends over the last decade or so.

"That green knee length dress would suit you fine, Elaine," Sally Anne concluded decisively as she examined the cut of the dress." You've got nice legs and that would show you off to perfection. What do you reckon, Trisha?"

"Definitely. As your resident guide to fashion, that's our verdict. Why don't you try it on?"

The older woman blushed with appreciation. She really needed trusted outside opinion to validate her uncertain self-image. Without a word of argument, she took the dress and headed for the spare room.

"Let's see about you, Rita. You've got really nice hair and colouring and your figure is the best part of you."

"My legs are a let down and always have been," Rita said with a grimace of disappointment.

"You ought to know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I don't sense your partner complaining but just to make sure you feel comfortable about yourself, what about this white loose fitting trouser suit? I'd guess you'd look really good in it. It really suits your colouring and style."

Rita's jaw hung open. She'd bought it out of a sudden whim but her daily routine of dark skirt suits had dominated her thinking for far too long. She put a thoughtful hand to her chin and thought things over before her friends' bright smiles of encouragement finally swayed her. She took it tentatively into her hands and finally moved to the spare room just as she passed by an attractive woman going the other way. To her astonishment, it was Elaine. She rubbed her eyes in incredulity as she gradually realized that her life was looking up at last and all things were possible.


	21. Chapter 21

Scene Twenty-One

Margaret's mansion was becoming something of a favourite port of call for her growing circle of younger friends. Once through the sturdy oak door, the visual richness of the surroundings wove its spell round them, transporting them into another world. Margaret's sparkling conversational manner heightened their senses and opened them to fresh experiences that filtered through to their consciousness. Her living room was peaceful and civilized, their consciousness of time wavering backwards into the past and forwards again. It wasn't a one-way trade of experiences as this older woman's conversational abilities were sharpened by these interactions as she asked intelligent of them all but inevitably, the conversation drifted to the older woman's many experiences. It felt that the picture of the three naked women leaned in overhead in an interested fashion over the chattering crowd.

"How long have you lived in this house, Margaret?" Claire asked politely enough one evening as sunbeams angled low from over the back garden into their room.

"This house?" Margaret said in distant tones as she turned to look around her. It had been such a fixed part of her life that she had problems in thinking when it predated her existence. This stretch back into her past started to disorientate her for a moment.

"I remember the very first time I visited the house. I was nervous of course."

"So tell us what it was like living with Julia," Jenny said, kind-heartedly. having not been around when she had first told Nikki and Helen the story. It felt as if she was being prompted to ask the question.

"Julia Desmond," Margaret echoed the words, which lingered on her tongue like vintage wine." Yes, that is where my life really started looking up. Let's have another cup of tea and I'll tell you all about it."

The thrilling sense of discovery of the unknown was becoming familiar to Nikki and Helen but this was new to the other two women. While Jenny with her North Country ways was openly wide-eyed at the prospect, a feeling of excitement ran through even the normally composed Claire.

"This is like going back in a time warp. Who know what we'll find?" Helen murmured in a state of dreamy spaced out acceptance.

"Trust Margaret to be our guide," came Nikki's positive reply, ready for anything.

**********

At last, after many delays as military needs prevailed over passenger transport, the clanking overworked train wheezed its way into the darkness of the high arched wrought iron shelter of St Pancras mainline station. This was Margaret's first confused introduction to London as steam hissed in all directions from overworked boilers. With muscles the two women didn't know they possessed, they heaved their heavy suitcases onto the wide platform and past the neat lines of anonymous khaki clad soldiers queuing for the adjacent train. Hectoring sergeants drilled them into order with loud military voices. As they passed near them, their questioning glances appraised Julia as her fresh faced beauty and tight blond curls clashed with her confident strides and mannish trousers and stylish jacket.

"'Hey, what do we have here? Men wear trousers, women wear skirts. So what's up with you them?" called one loud aggressive voice to the side of them.

"None of your business. This isn't the Victorian age. Don't you know there's a war on? Julia retorted with brazen cheek pushing her case past the man.

This emboldened Margaret who would have linked arms with her lover if she weren't so burdened. They weren't going to ask them for help in manhandling their luggage as they took their place in the ticket queue. The ticket master coolly clicked their tickets and let them through for Julia to wave madly to a middle aged man, dressed in a smart, dark suit and a bowler hat as shouting was futile over the uproar.

"Daddy, thank you for being your usual reliable self. Neither Hitler nor the blackout has put you off."

Her father smiled weakly at the theatrical display of his eccentric and above all determined daughter.

"We've been clear of bombing ever since you went gadding about the country."

"Well, it all goes to show you, I didn't need to be on stand-by, driving ambulances past all those bomb craters. All the horrid bombers have stopped scaring the ladies out of house and home," Julia retorted lightly, with an undertone of seriousness. Margaret's eyes opened wide as her lover hadn't told her this side of her.

Her father and mother knew better as she had told him of her exploits in a curiously self deprecating fashion. Bold as brass, Julia had volunteered for duty and her strength of purpose and unexpected adaptability enabled her to faultlessly drive her bulky ambulance along the lunar landscape of the badly bombed backstreets of London. Overhead, the brilliant white searchlights had drawn white pencil shapes in the darkness overhead to try and pinpoint the source of the droning sounds overhead. He sensed from distant sounds heard through the underground bomb shelter that the center of London was lit by blazing fires and billowing smoke and that his beloved daughter was somewhere in the middle of this Knowing all of this, far be it for him to criticize his daughter's lifestyle. Such considerations seemed petty in the great scheme of things. The war changed everything, big and small.

In this way, Margaret's cinematic view of her induction into London life jumped and juddered its progress in her waking perceptions and to the keen observers of the scenery.

Suddenly, the slim dark-haired woman stepped out of the echoing building, into the briefly lashing rain, onto the running board of the shiny black Bentley and into the upholstered back seat right next to her beloved Julia. As her left hand was linked into those finely shaped fingers, a lightning flash from the thunderstorm overhead illuminated the blissful smile on Julia's finely carved features. This was like it, Margaret murmured blissfully, as the car skidded along the wet cobblestones streets, wending their way to Julia's parent's home in Hampstead.. However uncertain and disjointed her future appeared, it must be better than the deathlike certainties of the family she'd left behind.

The full opulence of the life to come opened up for Margaret as much as fifty years later, it opened up for Nikki, Helen and their friends. They saw through the older woman's eyes her former self as young, eager for life, slim, dark haired and clutching her heavy suitcase, that solid oak door open up in front of her, her beloved Julia and her very accepting father. The only difference was that, moving back in time, the dark and formal Victorian furniture wasn't yet transformed by the overflowering theatricality of style that their union was to produce. Either way, Margaret's mouth hung open in much the same way as in a later era, her young friends would behave.

Margaret ought to have been tired out after the rigours of the journey and, oh yes, staring down her family's intense glowering disapproval in turning her back on them to live with her female lover but she felt strange being tucked up in a strange bed in a distant corner of the mansion. The room was completely dark, the blackout curtains dutifully drawn. It wasn't as if she felt suddenly homesick for her family but more that she felt disconnected, her lover sleeping in another bed. It didn't feel right. Just as she twisted sideways, shuffling the cotton sheets, a sudden glow of candlelight peeked its way through the narrow gap of the silently opening door. A slim black shape trod lightly through the gap, shut the door without a sound, and made her way towards the dark haired woman's unbelieving eyes. Her heart was in her mouth with excitement and hr breathing was rapid and shallow. Finally, the candle picked out in sharp golden outlines the features of the one woman she wanted to emerge into her world from out of the darkness.

"You didn't think I was going to let you sleep on your own, darling. Why else did you get the bedroom right at the end of the landing?" curled that very sexual aristocratic voice round Margaret's onrushing flow of libido.

"I won't if you come into bed with me," came her reply, tinged with lust. Her blue eyes locked with Julia's and she laid her hand on the sleeve of her crimson wraparound silk dressing gown.

"But only on my own," came the slow reply as she laid her candle on the side and slipped the tie free. The other woman's eyes opened wide as there was slowly revealed, not her nightdress, but only her glorious curves. In one impatient desire to be free, she immediately disrobed and the two women slid, sighing into each other's arms.

Julia and Margaret had kissed each other passionately on a number of occasions in that far off Northern town, once being spotted by the local neighbourhood busybody which had caused the balloon to go up. She had been reassured by Margaret's quiet determination to leave home with her as in truth, there was nothing to leave. Julia

had waited for everything to go quiet, as she had tiptoed her way to her heart's treasure and the landing seemed to stretch onwards forever Finally, all her pent up desires and fantasies were more than matched by the way that lithe athletic body slid on top of her and crushed her mouth in a passionate kiss. This gorgeously forward woman pressed against her body and caressed her with all the confidence in the world. They felt so deliciously in tune with each other physically and both women were confident emotionally in what they saw in each other. They moved smoothly round each other and lovingly explored the intimate regions of each other. Julia cried out in sheer joy as her lover's lips and tongue made their leisurely way down the length of her body, paying careful attention to her lips. Her hips started to move rhythmically and her legs felt deliciously wide open to Margaret's tongue as she cried out again and again in unashamed pleasure and delight. After that sensational orgasm , Julia was sure as nothing else on this earth that she was definitely going to let her lover know exactly what she was capable of…..

"I love you, Margaret. You're really unafraid of life. That's something that's really special," Julia said at last still trying to catch her breath. They were lying together, feeling blissfully damp, entwined round each other, and resting in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"You're not just the perfect woman just to fall in love with but to elope with as well," the dark haired woman murmured with perfect commitment. That was what Julia wanted to hear as her lover clasped her arms round her.

"You mean every word you say,"she breathed. It had not always been that way for Julia. Back in the days of peace, it meant that her parents were more inclined to police her love life and one or two of her lovers had succumbed to the dictates of their Papa and Mama, just as in Victorian novels. Mind you, she was as headstrong as Margaret and it was only now that she was getting her freedom. After all, this was part of the cause for which she had driven ambulances in the Blitz- for her freedoms as she saw it..

"I love you too, darling. Beneath that dazzling aristocratic charm is a heart that cares."

Julia smiled freely at this shrewd observation as she buried her face in her lover's neck and spoke softly into her ear

"Not many notice that. How young you are to be so expert in the arts of love between women and to see through me."

"I'm nearly nineteen years old, darling," Margaret gently protested, sliding her fingers up to her lover's breast to make the point. She knew very well why this wasn't phrased as a question." I had my first lover when I was fourteen. Since then, I've never looked back."

Julia raised her eyebrows in wonder and moved her head to softly kiss Margaret's lips in gratitude. She was twenty-one herself and had gone through a similar journey.

"I remember when I first time I saw you drinking in that hotel bar. You took my breath away. You're the first woman I've known to dress in woman's slacks. You looked gorgeous with your fresh face and curly blond hair."

"Didn't that shock you?" Julia replied in exaggerated tones, belying her words in running her fingers through the long dark hair she loved. She had been sitting on a high stool in the hotel bar room in a town that she'd picked at random and had been coolly drinking a gin and tonic. Suddenly, she'd become aware of the presence of that dark bewitching beauty staring intensely at her. She held her pose for a few minutes to make sure she wasn't imagining things. When she turned her head, their eyes had connected and now finally so had their lives.

"It told me you are unconventional. That is so very sexually attractive to me and appeals to my heart and soul. I've grown up with conventional constrictions and can't bear them. I want to spend my life challenging them, to live the way I feel to be right. But tell me, Julia, how you manage to avoid compromising yourself?"

"You wonder how my family deals with an obvious lesbian in their family, darling? All I am asked to is not get caught out publicly and bring the family into so-called shame. Not that the idea bothers me dreadfully, darling, but it does give us our freedom. It means that mummy and daddy have given up on the idea of me being a breeding machine for future generations. They've put their hopes instead in my dashing brother, the famous fighter pilot and carrying on the family name. I've progressed to the point that I'm tolerated along with my lifestyle."

"Thank God for that. It means that we're here for the long haul together," came the dark smouldering reply, full of life's certainties. Julia's heart leapt inside her at this bold declaration of love, worth more than might be written in conventional Sapphic romantic fiction. There was a fine chance of that happening, she thought scornfully. Even if there weren't paper shortages for book publications, the stern puritan moral guardians of official culture sought to ensure that everything was kept militarily in line. They found it bad enough for young lovers to get married at Gretna Green but Julia exulted in how her lover strength of purpose went one step further to elope with her. Women like them were the subterranean unspoken dissent to the dispensation of official knowledge via Pathe Newsreels to the massed ranks in all the Odeons, Gaumonts and ABC cinemas up and down the country.


	22. Chapter 22

Scene Twenty-Two

"This is so romantic," breathed Jenny."It's like watching some black and white film, something like 'Brief Encounter.'……." Helen and Nikki were both speechless. This was the story of their own lives and these two women felt incredibly steadfast and gratifyingly challenged the complacency of their modernity .

Margaret's present day face crinkled into wreathes of knowing smiles as she brushed a white strand of hair back in place. Those same blue eyes looked on in penetrating appraisal so that Jenny felt she'd fallen short in her attempt to bridge the gap to an era whose films she'd only seen in passing. Margaret recalled that when the war was finally over, she and Julia had impulsively and foolishly decided to give the cinema a try and instantly found the characters too repressed and 'stiff upper lip' for their liking. Marlene Dietrich was more to their taste. In emphasizing how the moral dilemmas of unhappily married couples didn't interest them, it reminded them how set apart from the mainstream they were. But how to tell this kind hearted woman?

"I'll concede that visual atmosphere of the film had a haunting flavour about it and it reminded us of our train ride to London. The difference is that we stepped off the train together and enjoyed the forbidden love that they denied themselves. Julia and I and others always felt that we'd never be written about in the history books, the novels, the magazines and if we didn't take care, we'd be invisible."

"Not you, Margaret," Helen exclaimed passionately." There's something I can't get my head round. I see you as someone who was such a part of our history but you're also very real to us right now."

"That is so like you, Helen, in trying to analyse everything," Nikki said tenderly "Don't get me wrong. You're right to think that way and I won't deny that you've influenced me but now and again there comes the time to simply accept what's in front of your eyes."

Margaret's twinkling look of understanding bridged the gap effortlessly between them in the same way she had always understood the world around her. Each woman sat back in the timeless reflective silence around them. However, a sudden thought popped into Helen's inquisitive mind. She liked to have all the answers in her mind. The words suddenly jumped out into the air around them.

"There's one thing I've always wanted to ask you….,"

These words echoed in Margaret's mind as she did a double take on them. Was it a small polite woman with bobbed brown hair starting to ask this question or was it someone else? Her world swirled around her in a state of uncertainty. She was sure she was in the house she had always known but was it this time or another time, another era? Was she the actor in this story, and not the narrator as she had once thought………..? It was only now when she knew for certain as she finally got her bearings on the situation.

"Julia darling, there's one thing I've always wanted to ask you," the slim dark haired woman asked, wanting to know everything about this fascinating woman with whose life she was emotionally intertwined. She was reclining elegantly on an ornamental chaise longue while Julia sprawled sideways on the settee. Her white shirted arm was curled gracefully round, her elbow outstretched and her fingertips touching the side of her head. She elegantly smoked a cigarette in a short holder and that theatrical touch added to her charms. The lights were turned down low and Margaret sipped happily from a glass of wine. How wonderful was the year nineteen and forty one as a landmark in her life, a turning point, her rebirth. They were both pleasantly exquisitely tipsy.

"My family disowned me when they knew that I was a lesbian. Your family does know that you're a lesbian, don't they? Nothing is ever spoken about it."

"Of course they do, darling. I went through hell a few years ago when it all came out. I was caught out rather publicly when I was in the heat of the passion in my bedroom and I forgot that my parents were coming home early. I used to wear nice ladylike dresses but I was rather naked and exposed at that moment."

.

"My poor darling. What on earth happened?" exclaimed Margaret. Did she sense Nikki and Helen looking over her shoulder in equal concern or was this her imagination? The dark haired woman's sympathies were written all over her face. She wished she'd been there to protect her lover, to wrap her arms defensively around her.

"There was a frightful row with my parents. It is not what being naked is all about. Daddy's angel girl had turned out to be unchaste and had completely broken all the rules. Mother had always wanted to marry me off to some eligible bachelor and make a glitteringly successful marriage. I'm afraid that Claire rather faded out of the picture. It was a shame as she was my first love. The problem was that she was less willing than me anyway and our families disgrace finished off our love."

"So what happened after that?"

"In the middle of one of our rows which went on for days, I remember telling father that I was only following the lifestyle of Violet Trefusis. She was the lover of Vita Sackville-West, the illustrious writer. She was head over heels in love with Vita who struggled with her desires and her need for security with her husband. It was an ironic twist on the classic love triangle. I thought it was rather clever of me at the time to say so. After all, it was perfectly true. I was rather young and you do say such things. ….I probably still do so now. It didn't go down very well, I assure you."

"Well, what's wrong with that? It sounds a perfectly reasonable argument," Margaret murmured. She hadn't heard of this woman but if this what inspired Julia, Violet must be an inspirational woman. Although she felt sleepy, she was fascinated by the different shadings to Julia's normally light speaking voice. It veered in a fascinating way from the serious, the sometimes dark and right back again to the light-hearted. A charmingly seductive aura emanated from this elegantly fair haired woman along with her perfume.

"My father told me that she was that damned marriage breaker and that I was blackening the distinguished name of Harold Nicholson, one of our country's finest diplomats and politicians. That struck me as totally irrational. It only came out later that my father had known him on and off since they'd been at Oxford together. Of course, I discreetly found out more about Violet. I have my connections. She became my idol."

"So just how did you manage to be where you are now, to dress the way you do, to survive parental disapproval?"

At that point, Margaret eased herself to her feet. Her lover looked so gorgeous, languidly inclined on the settee. Margaret put her hands on her hips and stood, her right foot inclined forward. Julia's blue eyes looked upwards into her soul as she found her lover irresistibly attractive. They both felt the charge of electricity between them.

"I wore them down by degrees, darling," answered Julia, her voice seductively arching up and down the scales. "I can be very persistent. The war finally broke down their opposition as I explained. Of course, we're all basically close to each other and mother came to realize that she would have to satisfy her grandmotherly instincts through Philip. Father loves me devotedly. We came to an unspoken understanding that I should not flaunt my lifestyle in their face in return for some discreet freedom. The way I dress is now is a fair compromise. I agreed to look basically womanly in my hair and makeup and they would concede the trousers and jackets. My open necked white blouse comes somewhere in the middle. Of course, I got the best of the bargain in what I wanted and what I didn't want."

"And am I part of what you want?" Margaret said slowly and softly, drawing closer.

"Need you ask? Why don't you come down to my level and give me a kiss?" breathed the bold sultry invitation into the air." Mother and father are out visiting friends. They know we'll be here on our own. They're terrifically discreet, you know."

This time when Margaret lay next to her beloved, they both had the lazy sensuous feeling that they didn't need to frantically strip off their clothes immediately and make passionate love with each other. They knew that each other were there for the taking. They kissed each other deeply and ran their hands over each other, hugged and caressed each other with languorous pleasure. The low lights cast a golden glow from on high that This wasn't the first time they had made love since Margaret arrived in London but this time, each of them slowly undid their buttons, knowing that these temporary barriers would give way when the time came. They basked in the feelings of rhythmically moving against each other, half dressed enough for the moment.

"You beast," Julia exclaimed half jokingly after a sudden access of strength, rolled them off the settee, her lover uppermost." I'm really sore. I'll get my revenge on you for that."

"You wouldn't dare, sweetheart," mumbled Margaret into the mouth of her lover as she crushed her lips against Julia's and they rolled on the floor in an access of growing desire. It was at that moment that her rising desires received a sudden shock.

"We really will have to be practical, Margaret. Listen to me," Julia suddenly insisted in a sharp, forceful tone of voice. The dark haired woman froze in sudden shock and her body felt suddenly chill. What in God's name had gone wrong? Only after an agonizingly long couple of seconds did Julia's severe expression give way to a tiny impish smile.

"All I was going to say was that I want to take the rest of my clothes off and for you to do the same and I swear to God, darling lover, that I'll ravish you on this rug."

"You're horrible," Margaret exclaimed as a sudden wave of warmth and reassurance swept through her body. It didn't stop her throwing a dislodged cushion in her general direction. Everything was fine after all. She fumbled feverishly at what remained of her clothes and lay down just in time to receive the full joyful force of Julia's lusts and desires.

*****

"Darling, I'm really sorry for that trick I pulled on you," Julia whispered tenderly into the air around them many hours later. Both women's breathing was slowly returning to normal after passionate lovemaking."I could see that I really upset you."

"Just for a second, I was scared. It doesn't matter now Everything's splendidly wonderful now, darling," breathed Margaret, a blissful smile on her lips, her eyes shining.

"We'll always look after each other. I mean it," Julia declared with the tone of making their wedding vow. The other woman's deep sigh of pleasure and the pressure of her hands was answer enough.

"So what was Violet Trefusis like? How did you get to hear about her? In the provinces, all we get are movie magazines. All I had was my imagination of what might be," spoke Margaret sleepily against her lover's left breast. Julia laughed softly in appreciation of her lover's powerful imagination.

"She was unashamed, gloriously untamed in who she was. She decided exactly who and what she wanted to be in her life," Julia answered in slow, hypnotic tones, accenting very feeling perfectly against the sensual feelings of the moment and the feel of her lover next to her. "As to how I heard about her, well the old girl's network will tell you everything you want to know. It's an underground, rebel history that laughs at the stuffy official version of history."

Julia laughed softly as she ran her fingers down the smooth lines of her lover's naked back. They lay on the fur rug beside the settee, their clothes strewn carelessly round them. This was a moment of pure heaven.

Back in another dimension, Nikki and Helen sat open-mouthed. They emotionally embraced the full force of that wild untamed spirit in this line of women who had gone before them. Nikki had steered Helen into reading about the story of Violet Trefusis and Vita Sackville-West as historical figures but both were gloriously overwhelmed by this rich overflow of emotional poetry beyond what the written word had told them .


	23. Chapter 23

Scene Twenty-Three

Going on a journey wasn't just physically tearing yourself away from familiar streets, home surroundings and comfortably cloistered ways of thinking. It can mean tearing yourself away from accustomed ways of thinking which can be both constricting and comforting at the same time. Slavish obedience to the internal disciplinarian inside your head can be made to think that there are no alternatives. The whispered word of subversion can be shouted down only for it to emerge in disguised forms, especially where winding down after a hard week's work calls forth for a relaxing drink or three, perhaps added to going out on the town. There are those who act strangely contrary to their perceived natures are in reality allowing alcohol to knock away at inhibitions and who knows what may emerge from the shadows. There are those, of course, where having a few drinks only makes that person more mellow as that person is already who she or he wants to be. It was all about getting through the door that blocked you in and there were many ways of getting there. The main thing was to get there.

The hundreds of miles of physical train journey of Margaret and Julia down to London all those years ago was relatively easy. The short journey of Rita and Elaine to Chix from Cricklewood was quite another matter. All through the day, Elaine had been churning the matter over in her mind with a gradually building attack of nerves. When it came to the night, everything spilled over just as Rita looked at her most buoyant and cheerful.

*******

"I'm really sorry, Rita but I really can't go through with this party, " she stammered out, with total panic in her voice. Instantly, the shrewd blond-haired woman realized that all was not lost, as Elaine wasn't reacting with anger but shame. She moved over that chasm between the two of them and warmly embraced her for a long time. She didn't rush to reply but waited for the other woman's trembling to subside before speaking.

"It's all right. I understand what you feel," Rita spoke into the other woman's ear with her perfect Coope patented delicate diplomacy.

"You don't understand, dear. I really want to go," Elaine said slightly angrily, drawing back slightly to look into her remarkably patient partner

"So is there anything really holding us back? There isn't if we will it," she said with perfectly slow deliberate articulation for her words to sink in. Elaine nodded her head slowly. She realized that her fears had temporarily taken charge and thought carefully while those infinitely kind blue eyes looked at her without reproach.

"Not if you put it that way," she finally said, slowly and carefully.

"If you're willing to go, I'll be with you all the way. We'll look after each other. Just remember, dear, you've seen a couple of the women and they're all perfectly civilized and normal," Rita urged with all the silver-tongued persuasiveness of her alter ego

"I was really wondering how a couple of middle-aged lesbians like us can mix with glamorous clubbers with all the social confidence in the world," Elaine replied with a shamefaced laugh. Rita noted that for once she didn't notice her partner's 'worry lines.' For years, it had been rare of her to smile but now she had shaken off a few years

"Elaine, you look gorgeous in that green dress," Rita pronounced confidently to help drive away her own lurking doubts." All we have needed is a touch of hair colouring, and some good concealing makeup to hide the worst of life's damages."

"……and plenty of confidence," added Elaine, much to Rita's pleasant surprise. With rising confidence and with a slight thrill of anticipation, she definitely felt that they would pull this off. It wasn't as if they would enter a crowd of perfect strangers who only knew each other and would silently exclude them.

"….and lights, cameras and let the party commence. It'll be our music, remember."

The dark haired woman impulsively hugged her partner and kissed her full on her lips. She clung lovingly onto Rita's solid confidence. They had never felt as close as tonight.

Rita let her partner perfect her makeup and phoned for the taxi. They would be going out in style tonight. Arm in arm, they walked out to the taxi as the last of the twilight cast its turquoise glow on them. Both of them were with a single sentiment- to hell with what the neighbours thought. As if on a magic carpet, they snuggled down affectionately in the back seats as they were driven through the streets, seeing other drivers speeding on their journeys. Their outing was special, they both thought as Elaine wrapped her hand around her lover's and smiled blissfully.

"Here you are, ladies, that's a tenner," the man said tonelessly.

Rita fished out a note and, hearing the faint pulsing sounds of 'Saturday Night Fever' in the distance, slipped her hand in Elaine's. Instantly the music percolated into her nervous system as they eagerly opened the door to the club. Once they had checked in, a ripple of applause spread around the club as Trisha and Sally-Anne beamed at them.

"We're really glad you made it, you guys," Trisha greeted them warmly while Sally Anne kissed each of them on the cheek. Rita was conscious to the side of them, of the expression of glowing joy on Nikki's sensitive features and the broad grin on Helen's face.

"Just to introduce you to the rest of the gang who've all heard about you," Trisha said in her warmest, most gregarious manner," our very dear and wonderful friends, Nikki Wade and her partner Helen Stewart."

"Don't let that publicity plug deceive you, Elaine," Helen said with a broad grin." Every other person looks glamorous from the outside. We're just ordinary people.

A cluster of attractive woman gathered round them while Helen deftly made the introductions. Elaine looked dazed for a moment as the music pumped out at them, the flashing lights alternately illuminated and shadowed the faces of the crowd around them. She felt tongue-tied for a moment while Rita chattered away, covering her confusion for her very nicely. It was only after a little while that she finally found her voice.

"Am I so glad to be here," Elaine said with intense feeling." I've just realized that I really needed to become real and not let those nosy neighbours get to me. It's amazing that there are people who haven't got lives of their own who want to pry into ours. Well, stuff them, I say."

'They're playing our song," Rita said excitedly as the heavily orchestrated sounds of Abba resounded in perfect stereo effect through the club. Elaine looked with intense affection whose manner was delightfully younger than her years. Why the hell not, Elaine thought indulgently, what's stopping them? In no time at all, they were gently swaying on the cushion of sounds and each of them looked beautiful in the other's eyes. Rita looked resplendent in the loose fitting white trouser suit and her expression was glowingly delighted. She moved fluidly to the rhythm of the music and Elaine felt good in looking at her lover. In turn, Rita smiled as her lover's face looked smoother and more relaxed as she smiled in pleasure. At last, they felt as if they were taking their rightful place amongst all the other women in the club. Both women had that strengthening feeling of safety and emotional security as all of them were there for each other.

To their great delight, the next song was a slow one for all the lovers and both women eagerly melted into each other's arms. This was what they were waiting for. By then, both women had thankfully disconnected that highly attuned sense of what other people might be thinking of them as they dissolved into that sense of collective pleasure. Their most private sense of self was now on public display and now they felt good about themselves. More than anything else, they felt they could breathe as Elaine slowly and softly kissed Rita for such a long time.

"This is definitely one up to you, Trisha," Nikki said to her friend as she queued at the bar with orders from a thirsty Helen for her favourite tipple. She inclined against the sturdy polished wooden

"Thankfully, they're well away. I mean I know that I won't turn away new customers but I'm glad that I've had a hand in helping two women not to be, well, trapped."

"Everyone's got the right to live their lives the way they want to so long as it isn't doing wrong to themselves or others. I've felt that passionately all my life and nothing gets my goat more than some petty minded authority figure," Nikki proclaimed with deep feeling as she saw Rita and Elaine locked in a loving embrace.

"I'm not political like you are, Nikki. I'm not one for chaining myself to railings," Trisha said gently, dreamily watching how the coloured lights played on her friend's sharp features.

"You would if Helen and I got working on you. Sally Anne's another one, stronger than she looks," retorted Nikki with a challenging grin on her face before carrying on in gentler tones." It's just that Rita, err I mean Coope, was incredibly kind hearted when I very nervously saw her to gain admission to John."

"I know what you mean, Nikki. They're really nice women. Another object lesson for us to not judge by appearances, just like Margaret," put in Sally Anne from behind, kissing Trisha affectionately.

"Right, Sally-Anne. You're absolutely right," Nikki said fervently at this astute observation, eager to embrace this revelation from another, the way she always was. "Anyway……., what was I saying? Oh yes, I've got it. Anyone else than her might have told me to piss off, don't bother the Important One. More than that, but all the time we were at the soiree together, she never let on about her own problems, about her home life. Hell, my normal reliable gaydar was switched off and, worse than that, I never knew it. That's a real let down for me, an experienced gay woman of the world, veteran of so many club nights and so on."

The other two women laughed appreciatively at Nikki's comic sense of dismay, which she deployed so neatly and modestly to display her sensitive insight into the human condition. This was, after all, something that united them.

Suddenly, a fresh faced resplendent Rita trotted up in their direction, arm linked lovingly with a slightly disheveled but very relaxed woman in a glamorous green dress and elegant high heels. She greeted them with all the joy and familiarity that was natural to her warm hearted nature.

"You guys look as if you're having the time of your lives," Sally Anne said with unselfish pleasure.

"We are, Sally and we wanted to tell you this is definitely not the last time we're coming, are we, darling?" Elaine exclaimed with the joyous tone of wanting to proclaim her sexuality to the world before turning to Nikki." I've got a message from Helen. Her exact words are and I quote, to get off your arse and get her a double vodka and lemonade and move it or there'll be no sex for the next few nights."

Everyone laughed at the comic expression on Nikki's face as she realized that, in her intense philosophizing, she had forgotten her lover's needs. Rita smiled warmly at the way her own dear partner had so splendidly 'come out' in the most meaningful way possible.

********

On Monday morning, Coope came in to the chambers as normal, wearing her favourite dark suit, her face wreathed in smiles to see John deep in concentration on a particularly vexing case She took her place as normal and busied herself on the laptop, working her way through the e mails, humming faintly to herself. It was finally when she offered to make a cup of tea that John emerged out of his studies and took notice of his PA's cheery mood.

"You look pretty cheerful today Coope," John said, stating the obvious.

"I had a pretty good weekend, judge. It was one of those weekends where I had a chance to get some perspective on my life."

"That's good."

"Besides, any weekend involving socializing with Nikki and Helen is going to be a good one,"Coope teased, edging herself from the general to the particular.

"That's good," John said with raised eyebrows, inwardly wondering how his mysteriously resourceful PA managed to be involved with this social gathering. "They're interesting compassionate company, certainly. I'll never forget that soiree we were invited to. It really took me out of myself.

"Exactly," agreed Coope smoothly." I know how you're feeling."

What she hadn't mentioned was the delicious feel of Elaine's arm round her waist as she opened the front door, oblivious to what the neighbours might think and the passionate way she made love to her. Somehow, all her nervous anxiety was magically transformed into desire that night and blissfully reminded Rita why she had started to live with Elaine in the first place.

"Sweetheart, you're not thinking of putting on your nightie on after a night like this?" she

had urged. Rita had reached up automatically and creakily for the garment, which had been strewn on their quilt. It wasn't a wise move as quite a few muscles in her body were starting to ache from their unusual exercise that night.

"Since you put it that way, darling," Rita had said in seductive tones, feeling her lover's smile in the dark. She moved back to where they had lain together and slid her arm round Elaine's back.

On their late emergence into the Sunday morning, the first thing Elaine had said after their morning cup of tea and toast that she meant everything she had said the previous night about revisiting Chix. Rita kissed her lover warmly, in response.

Coope smiled secretively to herself again. There would come the time when she would tell the judge about the other half of her life. She didn't have to do so today as there was no rush. With his liberal politics and newfound friendships, he could hardly act the part of 'Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells,' could he?


	24. Chapter 24

Scene Twenty-FourEver since Sir Ian Rochester's run in with John, emerging much the worse for the encounter, his deep seated antagonism had been particularly virulent. It wasn't new for John to be particularly scathing about his morals and his behaviour and to laugh in his face. This time the row was public and that was the worst of it. Further still, those two impertinent women had joined in holding him to public ridicule. It was almost as if they'd set him up for a trap into which he'd walked headlong.

When he tried to analyze the situation, he felt totally bewildered at the man in fraternizing with a couple of lesbians in the first place. If Deed was predictable in any way, it was that he was a red blooded male who couldn't resist having his way with any willing female that came his way, that squalid little affair his ex wife included. In this case, he was obviously on good terms with them so why on earth would he have anything in common with them?

Sir Ian was a busy man and his position in the civil service insulated him in his narrow segment of life, of a social and working circle of government ministers, the hierarchy of the Lord Chancellor's Department, the judiciary that was friendly disposed to him and assorted wives and partners. He had never extended the tentacles of information into the outside world. Consequently, it was only by chance that his equally 'died in the wool ' conservative brother had casually talked to him about how his son had attended a recent conference that might be in his line. It was called 'Crime and Punishment' but when Sir Ian pressed him further, he discovered that the normal harmless talking shop had been infiltrated by the worst kind of left wing extremist firebrand. The lad recalled one very dangerous woman, a self described 'former wing governor and employee of the Home Office' who sounded off about the _'dire need to offer meaningful education for prison inmates and a need to recognize the fact that prisons only work with the cooperation of the inmates.' _Sir Ian's anxiety level started to rise as he realized the danger of people being infected by such dangerous and persuasive talk. The round of applause that greeted her rabble rousing speech was very worrying as such outlandish talk should have been refuted as all kinds of people from the Home Office, the judiciary, solicitors and barristers who should have been there. For God's sake some spirited person should have spoken up…….

Suddenly, a horrid suspicion started to creep into his consciousness. He reached the phone and demanded the presence of his faithful sidekick.

"Ah Lawrence, I'm glad you've managed to come. I wanted to take your views on a most worrying development. I've heard disturbing news of a seminar a month or so back called 'Crime and Punishment.' I'd be interested if it had come to your attention and your views on the matter."

The man cleared his throat as his mind scoured his mind and finally, his computer index found what he wanted. His harsh voice declaimed his views with his favourite and curious version of the royal 'we', something no one had ever picked him up on- except Deed of course.

"We were given to understand that it was the normal focus group activity that could be safely allowed to deliberate and occasionally, some useful ideas could be gleaned from it."

"And was it?" Sir Ian demanded spitefully.

"We sat in on the first day but it wasn't very interesting. I gave firm instructions that it should be given low level coverage, just to be on the safe side."

"You wouldn't happen to have an attendance list for the conference?" Sir Ian said with an ominous sense of quiet before the storm. Lawrence James had clearly palmed the job onto some subordinate who had botched the job.

"Not offhand," Lawrence James answered carefully, playing for time and knowing full well that he hadn't got it at all. He started to worry how hard it might be to obtain this information. Secret files, reliable informants and the Internet needn't hold all the answers, especially subversive organizations hiding behind an innocent disguise.

"Then go out and get it for me. There's something I need to check. Your future career may depend on it," Sir Ian spat out venomously. The other man scuttled out of the door as rapidly as a dignified LCD circuit administrator could ever manage.

Sir Ian's anxious mind restricted him to leafing through and signing off some routine administrators papers and when he had finished, drummed his fingers in irritation on his mahogany table. Finally, a slight clattering of shoes announced the return of a rather out of breath Lawrence James.

"Sir, we've just looked at the list and it is extremely disturbing…Sir John's name is down on it and a Ms Helen Stewart, former wing governor of Larkhall Prison."

"Surprise me, Lawrence. I suspected as much," Sir Ian acidly retorted.

"We were just thinking about the notorious Nikki Wade appeal. We confess that we were most surprised that the Home Office was surprisingly lenient in granting her appeal. We supposed that they were following the traditional gambit of appearing to be open- minded and relying on the Court of Appeal to slam the door. The strategy clearly misfired…….."

"You are trying to suggest that you are not the only accident prone civil servant whose judgment is distinctly questionable?"

"We're thinking about the timing. Maybe Ms Stewart passed on some information to Sir John that enabled him to put pressure on the Home Secretary?"

"What on earth would he have in common with a rabble rousing, politically motivated lesbian firebrand with an axe to grind about the prison service and a bee in her bonnet about 'justice'?" Sir Ian retorted, scornfully dismissing his subordinate's outlandish suggestion.

The words hung uneasily in the air as both men fell silent, mentally joining up the dots on the picture and their mouths opened in dawning half comprehension.

"But the woman, sir? You know what Sir John is like with women. I mean….." Lawrence James started to say. He was a married woman with a child and such behavior that they alluded to struck him as deviant and unimaginable. It was a nameless obstacle

"We shall have to proceed on the possibility that in some way they colluded in securing the highly embarrassing outcome to the Nikki Wade appeal. The damage has been done and if she keeps her nose clean, she can't do any further damage. What I'm concerned is that the popularity of the event has called for a follow up conference. My opposite number in the Home Office has set out a draft agenda and wants us to run our eye over it from the legal perspective."

He produced a sheet of paper, embossed with the corporate logo and slid it across the desk. Sir Ian studied the opening page of the document and smiled broadly. This was the stuff to give the troops- in a pleasantly concocted pill.

"Imprisonment and modernization"

Radical concepts in law enforcement

Managing social conflict in today's society

Resolving resistance to change

Modernising the Prison Service…………"

"So what is proposed is to set the agenda of the conference so that it arrives at conclusions that is sympathetic to government policies?" replied Lawrence James in the form of a rhetorical question. The control freakery aspect of the plan appealed to him though, of course, the man wouldn't put it as crudely as this.

"Exactly so. I think this will suit our purposes admirably. Of course, we need firm chairmanship of the meetings," Sir Ian proudly declaimed.

"Who will vet the applications for the conference? This is surely a critical point."

"In line with government policy to outsource activity that isn't core government, it is planned to allocate the job to a most promising company that specializes in arranging and managing conferences. With all due respect to the civil service, we don't need the usual stuffy, unimaginative civil service approach. We need an organization with panache, with flair, one that will really help sell the message."

"We aren't in danger of doing ourselves out of a job?" Lawrence James murmured uneasily. He had heard of such ideas in his duties but this was the first time this came closer to home.

"Of course not, Lawrence," Sir Ian said heartily." Leave it for the POLES to worry about that and for their unions to kick up a fuss. We're indispensable to the machinery of government. The idea is for the civil service to be reduced eventually to a core, policy making body which is where we are."

Lawrence James joined in with his leader in the hard laughter, which echoed within their securely guarded world. All the same, they did worry about those on the outside who perpetually conspired against them.

Coope was well aware of the very patronizing acronym that was used to describe her and her fellow workers- as 'people of low esteem.' She knew very well that John Deed was one of the few judges who respected her special skills and how she knew her way round the listing clerks who did the necessary administrative donkeywork. When barristers on high theatrically clashed in the courts and referred to item such and such which was in the bundle of evidence, it was a testimony to their thoroughness that the item referred to was there. An index of their professionalism was that there wasn't any occasion when an item was misfiled and consternation would break out. Similarly, John respected the duties of the security people and didn't try to browbeat any of them into compliance with their wishes. It paid John to do so as earning their cooperation meant that they would voluntarily work hard for him and help solve administrative problems. They came to work to do a job as best they could but it wasn't their lives and certainly wasn't a career. They belonged to another race from the Sir Ians and Lawrence James' of the world, who were as much career driven by the acquisition of money, power and prestige as intensely as street addicts for their particular substances of abuse.

Unknown to Sir Ian and Lawrence James, Elaine worked for the conference firm in question in a similar capacity to Coope. Her function was to book accommodation in the various venues she knew from dealing with everything from municipal town halls to purpose built centers. On much prized occasions, she would visit new venues and had that blissful feeling that she was free, independent and seeing with her own eyes and ears what was normally an abstract conception. Her desk was neatly set out in accordance with her tidy mind and a recent object on her desk was a proudly displayed portrait of Rita, which, to her mild surprise, no one questioned. She was known to be a private person, being only willing to open up to the few she felt comfortable with. By chance, she spotted this particular prospectus on their incoming post and conversations with Rita prompted her to surreptitiously slip it into her handbag.

"What do you make of this, Rita? This looks like something your judge ought to know about- and Nikki and Helen also," she asked her partner when she got home after a welcome kiss, a hug and a nice cup of tea in that order.

"Good lord Elaine," the perturbed woman said as she studied the prospectus through her spectacles."Why this is a total farce. This is a travesty of justice. I should jolly well think that they should know about it. You can't be too careful these days, the way they'll try to pull the wool over your eyes. Can I copy this and return it to you?"

"Of course, darling," Elaine said, sliding her arm affectionately round the other woman's shoulders. Thanks to her recent 'coming out', she was getting a kick out of her partner's daring temperament, and it didn't get scared about pushing against boundaries after conquering her fear of nosy neighbours." One day won't harm and then I have to have it back," she added in an even, businesslike tone of voice.

Coope's mind was racing furiously as she plotted out the possibilities. It struck her that if the content of the conference could be manipulated in this way, so could the attendance.

"And who controls the attendance, sweetheart?"

"Well in this case, nominally the Home Office does but I'm sure they'll be too stuck up and superior to sully their hands with such demeaning tasks," Elaine replied with a smirk on her face. Her face crinkled up with the knowledge that her beloved had some thoroughly moral conspiracy in mind. She didn't even bother enquiring if her Rita was in danger of landing her in trouble."Mind you, it all depends on who gets to handle the arrangements. That won't be decided for a few weeks yet with all the work we have on hand."

"Which you're going to angle for," added Rita. It was an obvious statement rather than a question. Rita trusted to her partner's newfound spirit.

"Of course, darling," smiled Elaine, before reaching over to gently kiss her very capable lover.

"So if there were suitably qualified attendees that can be sneaked in, can you fix that if you strike lucky?" came that irresistible request, as Rita removed her spectacles and placed them in her case.

"Quite easily, darling," Elaine answered placing her own glasses on the side. She had been gently caressing her partner's workworn palm and now she settled down on her partner's lap. She drew her into a long slow embrace and a long soft kiss while only the sunlight gleaming in through the kitchen window witnessed their love.


	25. Chapter 25

Scene Twenty FiveJohn had always found that his work kept him constantly busy, especially as he studied his cases extremely carefully. His previous occupation as a defence barrister wouldn't permit him to 'broad brush' his way through the detail and stick to the points of law. He had to immerse himself in the detail and ask questions, firstly of himself and next, the barristers, the witnesses and anyone or anything that took his fancy. His spare time involved him socializing in his familiar circle of professional acquaintances and beyond that, as a single man, his natural charm charmed younger attractive women into bed. This provoked mixed feelings in his colleagues of envy and despair at John's recklessness and a corresponding eagerness amongst his political enemies to use it to engineer his downfall. So far, he had trod the fine line in avoiding professional ruin.

It was only now that he realized that he'd become detached from a period in his life when he'd felt particularly happy and centred. What had he recently to show for himself but the superficial excitement of the chase, the temporary ego boost that he could pull the particular kind of woman who wanted no more commitments than he did, the fleeting physical pleasure and the dull realization the morning after that reality hadn't lived up to its promise? Moreover, this direction in his life allowed his natural inclinations to take charge in being center stage when he had so recently learned that real fulfillment lay in being part of a group of like-minded beings. With a feeling of regret, he realized that Nikki and Helen and their charming friends had gone their own way and would put down their experience of him as being an interesting guy, a transitory experience but no more.

Suddenly, he made a decision. Saturday afternoon allowed him spare time and he thought that Margaret would be the easiest to make contact rather than getting in the way of someone's busy social life. He reached for his mobile and dialed the number. After polite preliminaries, he got straight to the point.

"This is John Deed. I wanted to tell you that feel very remiss in not keeping contact after such a marvellous soiree. I really enjoyed it."

"John, if this is your way of inviting yourself over to my place or inviting me to yours, I'd be delighted to see you again. All the girls were talking about you since we all met- in the nicest possible terms," Margaret answered, feeling John's uncharacteristic shyness straight away.

"That's really nice of you all," John said in bashful tones." Do you want to make it my place or yours?"

"My place would be fine. I'll have fresh scones and a nice pot of tea waiting for you. say two thirty?"

"That is great. I'll be there," John answered in glowing tones. As he put his mobile in his pocket, Monty Everard made his presence know behind John.

"I don't need to ask what you're doing this weekend, John," Monty said, a broad smirk on his face.

"Actually you're quite wrong. The purpose of my visit to the lady concerned is quite innocent," John said politely as he reached for his copy of 'The Times.' The other man raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. When John came to move off, dressed in his smartest suit, a broad grin spread across his face. If the LCD spies were going to tail him to dig up some juicy scandal, they were going to be sadly disappointed.

*******

As John parked his car in the street, there was something restful and permanent in the look of the mansion that reassured him even before he put one foot over the threshold. Margaret's friendly greeting instantly reassured him that this was the place he was destined to be this afternoon. Once again, the lush warmth of the interior made him feel as if a

"Take a seat in the living room. I'll bring in the tea," Margaret called out gaily from the depths of the kitchen.

John knew very well from this woman's sturdy independence that his role was to accede to her request. He made himself comfortable and looked round the room while clattering sounds came from the kitchen. While he took in the two grey statues of naked ladies and various ornaments with interest, his eye gravitated to the portrait picture of the three naked ladies, or so he thought of them. He understood that the woman facing him on the left was Julia, Margaret's late partner. She was certainly a stunner, with her fair curly hair, her perfectly formed facial features and her blue eyes looking confidently out into the world. As an admirer of the female firm, her perfectly shaped body and legs tapering to slim ankles was hard to equal. Then again, the dark haired woman on the right exuded soulfulness. From what he could see of the younger Margaret, she had certainly been a stunner, with her hair pulled up coquettishly on her head.

To John, gazing at all the fascinating objects on display and furniture in Margaret's house was an aesthetic experience which he was privileged to experience which called for the most complete respect, yet he felt he wasn't visiting a museum but a home with all the connotations suggested by the word. .

"There's one thing that intrigues me, Margaret. Barristers who appear before me complain that I am far too inquisitive. If there's something on my mind, I can't let it alone even if it means that I take over the defence or prosecution barrister's line of questioning as I see fit."

"There's nothing wrong with an inquisitive mind, John. I was always a precocious woman and maybe I still am."

John smiled freely at this remarkable woman's shaft of wit. It was right up his alley.

"It's only a minor point. Julia is the fair-haired woman on the left. You are the woman in the middle facing away. Just who is the woman on the right if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, that's Olivia Rochester. She's a great friend of us, and her partner did the painting."

"That is a remarkable coincidence," John exclaimed, his eyes glittering with the desire for knowledge, the bit between his teeth." My bitterest enemy is a man called Sir Ian Rochester, a typical repressed, narrow minded, apparatchik working for the Lord Chancellor's Department and an enemy of freedom in all its forms."

"That's very interesting, John," Margaret answered, her eyes glinting with amusement." I remember Olivia described her brother in very similar terms. He of course did as he was expected and became a very boring careerist civil servant. He married and had a son. I met him once."

"And what was Olivia like?"

"Like Julia and I, totally outrageous. She might look to you as very womanly but before the war, she was a very keen flyer and when the war broke out, she joined the ATS. She was responsible for ferrying aircraft from factories to the squadrons for the men to fight with. She flew the occasional four-engined bomber but her real pleasure was to fly a Supermarine Spitfire, a high performance aircraft. Of course, she wasn't allowed to do any aerobatics, just deliver the aircraft to her destination, " Margaret continued with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes," Of course, it caused a few raised eyebrows when she emerged from the pilot's cockpit rather than the man they expected but their preconceptions didn't bother her."

"In other words, she was full of daring and adventure, someone who wasn't afraid of life," put in John helpfully to Margaret's visible gratitude.

"You understand perfectly," Margaret grinned, the light of joy in her eyes." Of course, she created a scandal in her family when she fell in love with Virginia, who painted this portrait. Their union made perfect sense to me as Virginia had a dramatic, artistic and above all affectionate temperament."

"You mean, opposites attract," John said quietly. He had no trouble in letting Margaret hold forth if he had the space to make his occasional contribution. This older woman was a marvel as she was very mentally receptive and quick witted and operated at his speed.

"She was the black sheep of the family in the same way that I was. As far as I understand, they tried to write her out of their family history and never talked of her. She was totally scandalous, beyond the pale."

"It must have been hard for Olivia to deal with though of course, they made it sound like a compliment."

"Basically, Virginia showed them how much her family were dried up inside. They never forgave her for that revelation. After all, pushing a pen in some Whitehall office is hardly glamorous and heroic in comparison with her exploits, both duty and pleasure. She was always larger than life. I always remember her telling me that when she and her brother were children, he would be too scared to climb trees in their back garden. She was a bit of a tomboy and wasn't scared in the least despite the odd grazed knee. That says everything about the differences between them."

It was Margaret's last razor sharp perception that finally triggered the full delicious irony of this revelation pour through John's system. He leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. His joyous outpouring of amusement was catching as Margaret could see the man through John's eyes, having been told by Nikki and Helen of their encounter with the nephew of her old friend. As she realized that he and Sylvia Hollamby made a priceless pair, she gave way to helpless laughter herself. They only both stopped laughing when they were both exhausted.

"I can't believe it," John exclaimed with a great effort. I've always seen Ian as this prim and proper man whose worst lapse in his narrow minded taste might be to swear at the cat from getting under his feet. The man is so bloodless and to think how he could have learnt so much from his free-spirited aunt and has spent a lifetime blocking it all out."

"You've put your finger on it, John. I really can't understand that if you have wings to fly with and the way is open, you don't just fly."

"And those who are afraid of freedom are scared to open Pandora's Box. They don't know what they'll find while you and I and Nikki and Helen and Trisha and Sally-Anne and Coope know there is nothing to be frightened of. That's the strange celestial joke. If there is a God, he must have a sophisticated sense of irony."

"Not he, John, she. Of course, I was irreligious and everything else that society disapproved of."

John smiled freely at Margaret's gentle disagreement as her clear blue eyes looked deep into John's soul. He felt enormously liberated and elevated by her words. They fell across his consciousness lightly and compassionately. It wasn't as if he felt the sort of attraction that he normally felt for women. That was precisely the point. He raised his cup of tea that he had let become lukewarm while the sunlight glinted on his eyelashes. He knew that they understood each other perfectly well and he felt good about himself, about Margaret and the whole world about him. The restless sense of time that governed his sense of urgency was gently disengaged.


	26. Chapter 26

Scene Twenty Six

Was it John who was present or Nikki and Helen, Margaret wondered as she dreamily started to unfold another chapter in her past? As she sipped her cup of tea, the setting sunlight temporarily dazzled her in a delightful fashion. It symbolized her life right now as at her age, she was starting to live life more intensely both in her past and present. To a narrow-minded logician, such meanderings of thought sensations didn't make sense, that the woman's ties to reality were getting dangerously loosened but Margaret wouldn't have paid any attention, both now and at any other time in her life. The elderly woman's grasp on the world around her was getting far better when Helen and Nikki first came into her life and ushered in such interesting friends. They were so attentive, such good listeners with such instinctive understanding.

Momentarily, she thought that John was still sitting in the settee opposite her but he had, in fact, made his very polite exit and Nikki and Helen had taken his place. It crossed her mind that without thinking about it, without planning it, her house had evolved into something of a salon and she was still very much alive and at the cutting edge. The ghosts of her old friends weren't banished from her mind, as her new friends hadn't ever replaced them. They manifested themselves in the welcoming atmosphere in her house and approvingly sat with folded arms in the background as these young people and this not so young man had earned their right of presence to perfection.

"So how did you get on when you first lived in London," Helen asked, an inquisitive light playing on her face. She'd made her own journey herself in less dramatic circumstances than Margaret while Nikki was a Home Counties woman.

"I couldn't believe it," the older woman said as she moved a straggling strand of white hair back into its accustomed place with a faraway look in her eyes as she transformed herself before their very eyes into the young woman, with longish curly dark hair, wearing a print dress that clung loosely to her figure. She had been younger than Nikki and Helen were now as they realized with a shock.

"This silk scarf suits you so well darling. It brings out your natural flair," Julia pronounced as they were putting the finishing touches to their dress. Margaret held the stylishly patterned flimsy material as it threatened to slip through her fingers. The fair-haired woman's fingers lovingly touched Margaret's slim shoulders and the material as she looped it loosely round her neck.

"There's a certain art form flamboyant way of wearing it. That's perfect," Julia exclaimed as the other woman looked at herself in the long ornamental mirror on the wall.

"I shall wear it always," Margaret murmured dreamily. She leaned back against her lover who encircled her waist from behind and softly kissed her. What a perfect start to the day, she thought gently stroking that shapely hand that held her.

"Come downstairs and meet my brother. He monopolizes all the dash and gallantry in my family. Don't worry about him, he's quite friendly," Julia added reassuringly. She was dressed in her usual trouser suit and starched white blouse.

Margaret had already met Julia's parents who had surprisingly warmed to her without her precise relationship with their daughter being spelt out. They had exhibited a strange worldly acceptance of her and, bit by bit, they had each exchanged some basic backstory on each other. So far, so good. The two women elegantly navigated their way down the wide staircase, which slanted down the sides of three walls. Turning right through the heavy oak door, Margaret found her hand gripped firmly and its clean cut owner was a dressed in a R A F uniform, complete with belted jacket and a pair of wings sewn just below his right lapel. His regulation short moustache, glowing skin and hearty manner were only belied by the tiredness round his eyes.

"Julia has already talked about you, Margaret. She tells me you're her new …companion. I must admit that your choices are both good," he said confidently enough after the preliminary introductions and polite conversation had taken place.

"I wasn't sure it was possible to tell on first impressions, Philip," she said in judicious tones. The man's choice of description fitted in perfectly with the circumspect way her presence was discussed. It wasn't unfriendly or demeaning. In turn, the man knew straightaway from Margaret's phrasing that this woman was no fool. He had been instantly reassured and was glad for her sister.

"I'm on leave having a few drinks in our family home before sampling London's nightlife. In a week's time, I'll be back flying for my life over France. Life can be short you know. It concentrates the mind awfully."

"Back from winning the war, I see?" Julia greeted him sardonically." That new stripy strip of ribbon on your manly chest tells me as such."

"Distinguished Flying Cross, Julia. Somebody thinks that I've been doing a good job," he said self deprecatingly." Somebody's got to do it."

"So long as you take care, old chap," his father cut in with understated concern" If anything happens to you, then your very disreputable sister will be in charge of the family estate when our time is up."

"Julia's got her head well screwed on her shoulders more than she lets on," insisted the younger man as he greedily lit up a Player's under the ornamental chandelier. The low lights cast an intimate glow in the large dining room. The well-polished oak and mahogany Victorian furniture conveyed an impression that that era was only just round the previous corner and that this century's time and change had only sneaked its way past them all. " I wasn't worried in the least when I heard she was driving ambulances in the blitz. I knew she'd be all right."

********

"I wish I had a brother like that," Nikki said suddenly out of nowhere in this very same house. It struck Helen so intensely that this unassuming strength of purpose was so Nikki. The ornamental clock on the mantelpiece chimed its tones in sympathy. "Mine still can't accept me as a lesbian, not after all these years."

"The trouble with wars is that it can take away the best and brightest. I can remember it as if it were yesterday," Margaret said with an unaccustomed tremor in her firm voice after her attempt at deliberate control." We were seated in this very room when a letter was delivered to Julia's parents. I can remember the very words it said. 'It is with great regret to announce that your son, Flight Lieutenant Philip Desmond was reported missing in action believed killed.' Of course there was no mistake about the matter. He'd 'bought it' as the slang expression of the day puts it, just as he described. There was just one moment when his guard was down and he was ambushed from out of the sun. His best friend saw it happen and told us about it. Those years made me aware that death happened to a lot of families in those days. After all, Julia had seen a lot as an ambulance driver. She was as reticent of her experiences and her courage as he was of his."

Nikki and Helen exchanged shocked looks. At their age, the only person they knew of their age group who had died was Rachel Hicks and that solitary event was shocking, obscene. They had both known at Larkhall Prison to watch their guard and have eyes in the backs of their heads but this story added a deadlier slant.

"It did mean that Julia's parents accepted that she would inherit the house and estate and took the final step of properly accepting me. Time had passed and they had seen that I was genuine. We had been rather 'hole in the corner' about our relationship and it was only then that we had our own room together. Before then, I would sneak down the corridor to her room and other nights the other way round. Believe me, it was lovely to wake up in our large cozy double bed, open my eyes and to see and feel the beauty of Julia's naked back, her tousled fair hair and the bedclothes half pulled back her side. It was as if she's planned it that way that I'd get a visual treat first thing in the morning. She was always so thoughtful and sensitive behind her brash exterior. I still miss it."

Helen got up to her feet immediately on hearing the older woman's voice break and seeing her dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. She put her arm round her shoulders and held her until she had recovered herself. Margaret's lined features crinkled up in a thankful smile.

"You must have had many happy years together, you and Julia," Helen said slowly and softly, intercepting a quick glance from Nikki." We admire your sheer nerve in treading the tightrope of very delicate social 'do's and don'ts', where one false step might have ruined everything and finally getting to sleep with your beloved. Our obstacles were in a more direct physical obvious form in Larkhall Prison. I know which is scarier. Thank God, everything's changed for you and Julia the same it is for us now."

"You're right, Helen. We did have a lifetime of happiness together," the older woman answered, warming to the tactful way her friend had put it and bringing her back into the light." You've heard me once talk about driving out into the country so I won't repeat myself. You get that way as you get older."

"Margaret," Nikki said slowly and firmly."Neither of us had listened as closely as we should have done. We hadn't known you all that long. Now we get it. Do you really walk past a work of art, look at it once and walk away without revisiting it? We really want to hear more."

Margaret saw their pleading eyes and heard their utter sincerity and let the bright, happy memories wash them along the trail of history. She carried on speaking, weaving her dreams for all to see and her friends felt the, by now familiar sensation of traveling back in time. .


	27. Chapter 27

Scene Twenty Seven

It was a burning September Saturday and the sun glinted down onto the Austin 7 parked proudly in the forecourt. The little boxy looking car had yellow bodywork and black mudguards and top and was Julia's pride and joy. Even if the car might not be in the latest fashion, Julia had fallen in love with it and it was therefore hers and became Margaret's as well.

In the last few weeks, the very expressively generous Julia had lovingly and very patiently encouraged her lover to learn to drive as her way of getting over the loss of her brother. In their part of the outskirts of London, only the occasional car and the periodic coal wagon disturbed their peace and quiet. Consequently, Margaret sat hunched up, tucking her legs into the confined space under the dashboard and sat up proud and straight as she gradually learned the delicacy of touch and coordination required. Finally, Julia burst into unrestrained clapping as the dark haired woman manoeuvred the car up the street, and round the block. Everything was going swimmingly.

"Look out, darling" Julia suddenly called out in alarm as the solitary Bentley driven by a self-important man wearing a bowler hat who acted as if he owned the road. The dark haired woman swerved determinedly and honked loudly at the rogue driver. That incident finally sealed their driving partnership.

"The weather is just too fine, father, to stay indoors. Margaret and I are going for a drive," Julia called out coaxingly as she fished out a wicker hamper basket and prepared a picnic.

"That's fine but don't you dare run out of petrol. There's a war on, you know, petrol rationing and all that."

He ought to have been alarmed by the gaiety of her daughter's laughter but he knew better. It was his wife who fussed over the pair of them, which they took in good spirits.

Soon, they were trundling happily down the road, out on their first long distance drive for the standards of their day, Margaret at the wheel and Julia consulting the road map with the intricately complicated A roads and B roads. Instinct took them past the rash of recent housing estates that had sprung up in the last decade and out into the country."This is heaven, darling. Don't you think?" Julia exclaimed as she pointed out the left hand turn down the country lane. Immediately, they entered a magical world where overhanging trees and their greenery transformed the strong sunlight into a mysterious subdued flickering. They felt as if they were entering a different world, removed from everything and anything. The drive had accustomed Margaret to deploying part of her mind to drive the car at a leisurely pace and her senses to take in the beauty of her surroundings. She glanced sideways and her heart warmed to see the excited flush on Julia's face, her brilliant smile. In turn, she felt good wearing her scarf and a flamboyant hat, which suited her flowering personality."Don't you think this is just the ideal place to stop," Julia pronounced as the woods partly gave way to the definitely perfect view to the two women. On the one hand, the wild untamed wood, on the other hand, a meadow slanted down to a stream flowing across their line of vision. A footpath clearly beckoned them onwards in their mind. It seemed as if it had been placed there for their purpose. Margaret rapidly brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine. As the rhythm of the purring engine died, the silence and beauty overwhelmed them.

"This is just adorable. This is sheer arcadia," breathed Margaret as she slid her arm round her lover's shoulders. This was a place where they could live in, not just observe in a detached way as a painting in a cold gallery. As Julia reached into the back seat for the hamper, a blissful feeling welled up inside Margaret. This was what she had been striving for all these years.

"Come on. It's time for you to take tea with Julia," she teased with her suggestion of a polite social occasion as Margaret shut the car door behind her.

They walked, an arm round each other's waists down the country path, the unruly blades of grass slightly dragging at their clothes and a shady bower near the stream called silently to them. As they stepped into the slight dip in the ground, the sounds of the running water and the birds in the trees was more perfect than its distant promise. Julia's enchanting smile cast a magic spell as she laid out their treats for them to eat at their leisure. In turn, Julia was fascinated by the vision before her, the way she reclined, stretching out her long slim legs, her untamed dark hair resting on her shoulders. There was no sense of hurry with an undertone of panic to immediately make love in case they lost each other. They had all the time in the world as they slowly ate the fresh apples and ham sandwiches. All their senses were alive as never before.

"That was delicious, sweetheart," Margaret could remember herself saying as she rolled onto her stomach, looking Julia straight in the eye." And now for the final course?"

"Well, naturally we are, darling," purred Julia as she easily reached through the space between them that was so easy to traverse. It was only a short distance, that's all, she thought as her fingertips sensed the contours of her lover through the loose white dress that she wore. Kissing and touching each other in nature's paradise was heavenly, both thought, as they murmured their love to each other. Their mouths were wide open to each other and their tongues caressed each other. Their bodies so easily wound themselves round each other with practiced ease but making love in the open air felt so vibrant. With no room to enclose them, they felt more naked than normal, even though Margaret's fingers were only starting to unbutton Julia's blouse.

"Shall we?" Margaret mumbled into her lover's mouth.

"Who's looking? I mean why stop short of the dessert? It's best part, after all," Julia answered with aplomb as her nimble fingers expertly disrobed her lover. They felt that in their upwards and onward climb, they shouldn't stop short as their loving friendship would surely support each other. For two such unafraid women, exposure felt good, after all, their bodies had no secrets from each other. They coiled round each other, pressing up against each other's bodies and their lips explored each other's secret places while their clothes were carelessly strewn on the grass. As they made the most exquisite of loves in this paradise setting, they felt the soft gentle breeze on their bodies, the grass beneath their backs and the flickering sunlight above them. Finally, as the sunlight gently dappled their bare skin in shadow and light and the waters streamed past them, they finally got to where they were striving. With a feeling of great satisfaction, Julia felt the rhythms of her partner's ecstasy through her favourite finger inside her lover and in turn Margaret loved the taste on her tongue of her lover's juices and the feeling at being at the center of Julia's being.

"Isn't this wonderful," Margaret breathed, murmuring against Julia's breasts."Every day should be like this."

"The point is, have you got the stamina, sweetheart," laughed Julia, tingling at the touch of her lover's tongue on her nipple as she ran her fingers through her dark hair.

"We could learn. Practice makes perfect as my mother always said. Ugh."

"What's wrong, dearest," came that infinitely gentle voice asking out of concern.

"I did the unmentionable and unspeakable. I actually repeated one of my mother's ghastly proverbs. That is so dreadful.'

"I bet she didn't have this in mind," laughed Julia loudly as her lover's exquisite humour as she slid her hand between her lover's shapely thighs.

"I'm definitely sure of that," came her amused reply as she felt the familiar pleasurable twinges deep within her and her lover's eyes delighting in her nakedness.

*********

"And I thought I'd done it all," exclaimed Nikki in tones of glowing admiration." I mean, it hadn't occurred to me."

"It was so much easier in those days darlings," Margaret replied with perfect composure." There were hardly any cars on the roads. Once you found a suitable place that was romantic and deserted, you could make love in the open air without a thought of unwelcome intruders. That wasn't the first time we went there. Our first instinctive choice was the right one as is often the case in life."

Helen exclaimed wordlessly at the older woman's perceptions and her unshakable belief in the rightness of her place in the world and that their immunity from snap judgments of the moralizing majority.

"How marvellous. Of course, a form of pleasure that does nobody any harm is worth repeating," Nikki answered pertly.

"Of course, Nikki. The trouble was that housing developments after the war took away such beautiful countryside. I mean what else are the unspoiled beauties of the countryside made for? Look at all the works of the great artists for instance. The only trouble was that we were always a bit left out of the picture "

All three women laughed uproariously at the older woman's deft understatement and her neat encapsulation of their collective past .After all, what Margaret had done in her life conformed to the great classics and was therefore traditional.

"Margaret, I've always wanted to ask you something," Nikki said in thoughtful tones after a long reflective pause. Their laughter had faded away into the distance but not the good spirits engendered. They still felt the long-ago sunshine beating down on them in a golden nostalgic haze."Trish and I were crazy enough to believe that we were the first to start a lesbian club. Helen and I have since browsed various women's history literature and we know how wrong we were. Great though it is, it doesn't give you the emotional feel of it. Is that something you experienced? Perhaps….."

"But of course," Margaret smiled warmly."We were among the regular clientele at 'Gateways.' Perhaps you want to hear about it?"

"Oh yes,' breathed the women.

*********

They saw and felt how Margaret slotted so easily into Julia's social circle and, from time to time, impulse sparked them to drive over to the 'Gateways' club in Chelsea in whoever's car could be commandeered to afford the petrol ration. They got dressed up especially for the occasion and whoever drove, took them through the pitch black and infallibly found their way to the club. Laughing gaily, they clattered down the steep flight of steps in their glad rags where the woman on admissions signed them in with a knowing smile.

To their right stretched a long bar while, tucked behind the admissions table, a small jazz band blew frenetic rhythms a million miles away from the normal big bands who backed the crooners. Coming here was all about living life to the fullest as some who came here knew that tomorrow they might be dead. The war wasn't going to be lived through in a dour and grim spirit, as life was quite serious enough on the outside. The ever so slightly shocking and the daring displays of self-expression in its many forms was part of the cabaret atmosphere. Here was a place where women could confidently stand at the bar and order drinks. They felt free in a bohemian atmosphere amongst all those who strove to push boundaries in various ways, including artists. There were those who were merely curious spectators but they came only as they accepted the reality of those who set the tone of the club. After all, the country was fighting Hitler and his kind for the sake of freedom and that was what they were all celebrating.

It took a couple of cocktails and the sounds of music bouncing off solid walls to propel the flush faced excited women onto the cramped dance floor in this cellar club. This milieu best expressed their nonchalant right to live the way they chose to in the most public way they could conceive.

What Margaret loved most of all was the mysterious stop start rhythms of the tango and the studied mannerisms they adopted. Immediately, Julia's arm went round Margaret's waist and they held each other's hands outstretched as they moved geometrically round the dance floor in common with the other dancers. Depending on what they felt like, Margaret would lead, wearing one of her dresses and her treasured scarf while Julia in her favourite suit and shirt laughed out loud as she was led round the dance floor. The rhythms of their bodies as they moved against each other confirmed just what physical activity that the tango was such a stylized representation. Likewise, the dramatic and stylized gestures of the dancing appealed to their theatricality. The drums and horns propelled the dance along in an irresistible fashion while the smoky atmosphere swirled around them. Right in the middle of the room was a slowly spinning globe composed of small mirrors, which sent flickers of light round the room. It was at moments like this that they bathed themselves in this illumination in a curiously childlike fashion.

In the small hours, they finally enjoyed the last waltz together, clinging to each other in rapt adoration before eagerly kissing in this warm, womblike atmosphere. They queued patiently for the exit and when they hit the night air, a cold invigorating blast of air woke them up. Laughing at their shared experience, they snuggled up together in the darkness while whoever drove, felt as confident as could be, even with a few cocktails under the belt. So long as she wasn't obviously weaving along the road obviously drunk, their faithful car would take them home.

********

"Just imagine it, no breathalyzer, no speed cameras, no CCTV cameras and everything as safe as houses," breathed Helen incredulously.

"And there was a war on," Margaret commented cryptically to the accompaniment of laughter at their friend's deadpan humour.


	28. Chapter 28

Scene Twenty Eight

By contrast, Neil Houghton had come away from a grimly serious cabinet meeting, duly 'on message.' The PM had spoken at length on burning political issues of the present moment that their tightly organized modern political party had to face. The man's lowering eyebrows and his piercing blue eyes had spelled out the unmistakable and uncomfortable fact that there was no such thing as a politician's private life. Everything was exposed for the paparazzi and the fickle press to expose. He had laid it on the line that there had been too many slip-ups recently. Instances where the newshounds had got hold of a tasty morsel of scandal meant that the government machinery was unable to persuade the press to keep the story under wraps. At this point, that accusing stare swung round in his direction. The man had that intimidatingly headmasterly manner about him even if he was only a few years older than Neil.

"Neil, I want you to oversee a new initiative in cleaning up the streets of Britain."

"How do you mean, PM.? I've put more resources to the ordinary bobby on the beat- that's natural headline material," Neil had boasted, a broad grin on his face hands spread wide for the benefit of his envious colleagues.

"Not that, Neil though you've done good work in that direction. I'm talking about street prostitutes. It's the sort of thing that fills up the mailbags of our colleagues in inner city centre constituencies. Of course, your seat in leafy Hertfordshire is a million miles away from all those concerns."

"Being Home Secretary does mean that my civil servants constantly update me on inner city problems and how the poor hard-working taxpayers are constantly caught up in the crossfire."

"I'm talking about all these women with skirts up to here stalking the streets and accosting innocent passers by. Half of them are on social security and taking the country for a ride. Rumour has it that you sail too close to the wind in that direction anyway," came the frosty reply." Anyway, the focus groups all agree that there is plenty of political advantage to be made from launching a Moral Campaign, something we've been quiet about. It will undercut the opposition nicely and steal their thunder. There's no danger of any backlash from the Civil Liberty groups, what's left of them. There's more of a danger of any of us scoring an 'own goal.' You'd better get onto this, Neil and fast."

Neil Houghton was thoughtful as the latest political plan to steal a march on the rival company was duly launched. His preliminary thoughts sketched out a few ghostwritten articles in the broadsheets and a few interviews for the tabloids in words of one syllable. He stepped outside the famous black front door where his ministerial limousine was waiting. He brushed aside the members of the press and gained access to the roomy interior where he slumped alone in the secure interior. He brooded to himself as the limousine whizzed smoothly through the city streets. He knew that he had to take stock of his life. He was facing the most difficult dilemma imaginable, the choice between his political desires and his personal desires.

It was an addition, he reasoned feverishly to himself. He had this compulsion after months of reining himself in, driving himself for the good of the party to sneak off down the beaten track to dimly lit back streets where these women plied their trade. There they stood, leg bent and knee pushed forward, skirt much shorter than he was accustomed to see, leather boot just short of the knee and breasts just the size and shape that he wanted to get hold of and lips that would take away that driving desire. There was hardly a word of conversation exchanged between them and the deed was quickly done. There was a thrilling sense of the illegality of the operation that excited him. The woman didn't know who he really was, she wouldn't be interested anyway and that was the attraction in being up some dark street from where he could go back to his creature comforts in suburbia.

Nevertheless, he had to take the warning seriously enough. All it meant was that he shouldn't be actually caught out. After all, that was about what politics were these days. You had to listen to the coded messages given out at these meetings. His mind was whizzing rapidly and he quietly ordered his driver to drop him off at the garage where he kept his private car. It was, of course, too late to get home to his constituency so he was stopping over at his London flat. That's what was going to go on the official records anyway.

Sure enough, he found a nice discreet side street a couple of hours later and the exact woman he was looking out for was standing on the street corner, talking to her mate who wore long brassy blond hair and a short skirt. While both women chatted in a desultory fashion, both had their eyes skinned on the isolated car that drove slowly down the street. Neil Haughton pulled up within talking distance and hailed the woman. In turn, she gave the car and the man the once over and figured out that this was the right client to pick You couldn't be too careful these days, she reckoned. When the nameless woman was in his car, she directed him where to go in a flat, businesslike tone of voice and his anonymous looking car was off round the corner.

A couple of minutes later a beaten up looking Ford slid in next to the kerb and the man at the wheel called out to the other woman. He was in his forties, with darting furtive looking eyes, short hair brushed back and a straight nose. He had made sure that he'd left every scrap of incriminating ID behind him so that he could set off for work from his bedsit safely the next morning from his bedsit and switch back to prison officer mode. Since he'd been kicked out by his fair-haired wing governor girlfriend, he needed some form of release now and then. It had stopped being safe these days to enjoy the normal perks of his job thanks to all this politically correct stuff about zero tolerance.

******

The BBC had done Neil Haughton proud in the preliminary to the Parliamentary broadcast. They had set up the preliminary action packed graphics and let the camera roll so that he could talk without opposition. After all, electronic domination of a passive audience suited him best.

"I am here to announce a new government initiative to tackle a growing social menace that is plaguing our streets. Along with the evils of alcohol and drug addiction, there is the evil of prostitution. Every inner city has the same red light district and the worst of it is that ordinary citizens are forced to grow up alongside these women, very often single parents, who cruise the streets and create unsavoury neighbourhoods. Such honest hardworking families who pay their taxes deserve better from us. This government's concern is also with the bad example shown to their children and passing down social problems to successive generations. It may be called the world's oldest profession but that is no reason to tolerate its existence with a nod and a wink.Government research show that a significant percentage of prostitutes are also receiving social security benefits and this is fraud in anyone's book. For these reasons, the government is planning to introduce changes in social security legislation to cut the benefits of those found guilty of prostitution in the first step in deterring all women who think that a job in the sex trade is a cushy option. We are determined to prove that this is not the case. At a later date, a system of financial penalties will be imposed on prostitutes who do not receive state benefits. ……………."

Nikki and Helen had been putting their feet up and, in one bored and tired moment, and had let the fade out credits roll for the end of their favourite TV drama run, past the adverts and into the opening grave announcement for the party political broadcast.

"Helen, just why are we watching this crap?" Nikki said in her usual blunt fashion, her legs and arms paralyzed.

"I don't know. Just to remind us what bastards there are in the world," Helen said, glazed eyed and unable to move.

"We know that already. I mean, what we didn't know, John has filled us in on the details."

It was then that they took in the full impact of what Neil Haughton's self-satisfied voice was telling them.

"Hey Nikki. I can't believe it. That's Neil bloody Haughton talking about prostitution. The bloody hypocrite. Fenner might be an evil backstabbing misogynistic bastard but Haughton's a bigger hypocrite than Fenner is," Helen shouted, suddenly on her feet and pacing angrily round the room, her green eyes shooting flame.

"The Julies," Nikki murmured with frozen horror, her voice rising in pitch and raw emotion." The bastard's talking about The Julies, Buki Lester and many others. He of all people isn't seeing them as real people. I mean what's going to happen? Those on drugs like Buki Lester are going to go on the game even more than they do already. The pimp isn't going to lose out. At least Fenner took responsibility for doing all his own dirty work. Jesus, what am I saying?"

"Nikki, I understand perfectly what you're feeling," Helen said fiercely with intense emotion. "Think of it like this. Consider the worst atrocity in modern times, the Jewish Holocaust. Who was the greater monster, the SS man who carried out the exterminations, the one who was only 'following orders' but who got a kick out of his brutishness or Adolph Eichman, the top civil servant who created all the nice, neat business plans, the logistics as to how many thousands of Jews could be exterminated in a month, who planned it out that everything ran smoothly like clockwork? You tell me."

"That's a hard question to answer. I guess both were bastards in different ways. It's difficult to make comparisons,"Nikki said slowly, touching her forehead and feeling her tentative way forward.

"You have to consider the fact that if I hadn't overheard the Julies talking about Haughton being once a punter of theirs, the Home Office might not have granted your appeal. Don't think I'm wholly grateful as I worked my arse off with a straight professional approach and was getting sod all response. When faced with a 'kiss and tell' revelation- if you can call it that," added Helen with a disgusted grimace," then they moved like greased lightning."

"So where does that leave us, Helen, in the great scheme of things?" pursued Nikki intently.

"We try to be honest with people. I don't feel comfortable any other way but if we have to exploit a situation and the motivation's right, we do it with no regrets. That doesn't take away from the hypocrisy away from a guy like Haughton. He's an all powerful government minister for God's sake, he doesn't have to make the decision but he did. He's just scoring a few more Brownie points to push his miserable wretched career, that's all and to hell with the misery he inflicts around him. We're different, you and I, sweetheart," and here the hard angry tone in Helen's voice softened as all the rage within her had."At least we try. We certainly do."

Suddenly tears started streaming down Helen's face and Nikki gathered her in her arms. She lay limply against the taller woman, wanting nothing more than her lover to softly kiss and caress her.

"Darling, I can feel through your body all the pressure of those months of struggle coming out of you," murmured Nikki in into the smaller woman's ear as she held her." All the shit you went through had to come out sometime."

"You're right babes- and there's no need beating ourselves up about what we do,"Helen said in a firmer voice as her swirling thoughts came together in definite structures.

Nikki moved back slightly, her hands encircling Helen's waist as she looked thoughtfully into the smaller woman's eyes.

"I can see why John really hates the guts of all that crew. He's more like us than I ever suspected to begin with. I wonder if he's heard this broadcast. I'd expect he'll react pretty violently and no wonder,"she added approvingly.

A shaky laugh escaped from Helen as her imagination got to work from what he knew of the man.

*****

Sure enough, a few miles away, a rolled up wad of newspaper was grasped and twisted between John's hands as if it were Haughton's neck and he hurled it violently into the corner of the room. He shouted and bellowed his rage at the television in forthright language that his two friends would have immediately empathized with.


	29. Chapter 29

Scene Twenty Nine

The Hollamby family home was not a cheerful place these days as the reality of their ignominious brush off by Claire Walker sank home into their embittered souls. They settled down at their dining room table with their traditional meal of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings.

While Nikki and Helen had been doing some soul searching on the way their customary kind-heartedness had quite unexpectedly steered them in the direction of a substantial legacy, the Hollambys were gnashing their teeth that the legacy that they had hoped for was fast slipping through their fingers- and to make it worse, into the hands of Bodybag's bitterest enemies.

"You were a right help Bobby," gloomed Bodybag as her first contribution to what passed for family discussions after hours of charged atmosphere and pointed sulking. This was a mainstream Winters family trait which had been passed down the generations, like mother, like daughter by imitation or directly through the genes. It was a quality that Margaret, growing up an acute outside observer of her own family had deliberately steered clear of in her relationships. Such calculated emotional dishonesty was repugnant to her. "You did all the talking, Sylv. Once you started, I couldn't get a word in edgeways," protested Bobby with perfect truth. Unfortunately, it didn't do him any good from the deepening scowl that locked up her facial features. "We have to do something about this," he finally ventured into the oppressive gloom after swallowing a mouthful of roast potato and sliced beef. He knew that Sylv needed to stop brooding over the matter. It didn't do her health any good. "Such as what," she snapped, glaring from the opposite side of the dining room table. "Well, what about seeing a solicitor? I know this tip-top solicitor, Jim Patterson from the Masonic Lodge. Let's face it, Sylv, there's no sense in going at it like a bull at a gate," he reasoned as he put his knife "Well, you supported me," Bodybag snapped back." You were all for confronting them and backed me up all the way- that is, till we got to the front door." "I know I did but I've been thinking about it. Let's face it, both of us were a bit too hasty." "I suppose we've got nothing to lose. You'd better check that this friend of yours doesn't land us with a whopping big bill. I see enough briefs at work and they're all suspicious characters, all up to no good."

"But Sylv," reasoned Bobby." The ones you see are trying to wangle it for hardened cons to get their way out of prisons. They're not necessarily all like that."

"On your head be it," Bodybag finally spoke in surly tones, wanting to camouflage her retreat and to make sure that in the perpetual blame game that made her life, Bobby would carry the can, not her. After all, she only reluctantly agreed to the idea.

************

Curiously enough, the Hollambys found themselves in precisely the same office from where they had beaten such an ignominious a retreat. The receptionist kept her mild surprise to herself while Claire Walker was in court and her secretary was busy at work. They found themselves welcomed into Jim Patterson's ground floor spacious office like honoured guests. As Jim Patterson and Bobby Hollamby exchanged knowing glances and as the solicitor drew the chair back for Bodybag, she smiled foolishly at the thought of being treated as an Important Client

"Nice to see you, Bob. We got a lot done at that last Masonic do. Business and pleasure can mix. Now what can I do for you both," the solicitor said in his best brisk fashion.

"We've got a bit of a legal problem we need sorting out," Bobby said with the kind of vocal delivery that made other people want to wind up the spring that governed his speech delivery."Sylv and I have well, expectations from her only aunt, Margaret Winters. She lives on her own and, let's face it, time isn't on her side since Sylv and I aren't young any more. What does the old bat do but make a will that leaves everything to this notorious ex con and her precious accomplice who Sylv used to lock up till she wormed her way free. It's an outrage and all because she thinks this precious pair have done her a good turn."

"And have they?"

"Only some woman's emotional fancy," Bobby continued derisively. Bodybag was none too pleased at her husband's tactlessness about women in general but she swallowed her pride and had to accept that he had got the facts more or less right.

"Just how right in the head is your aunt?" Jim Patterson asked cautiously, questions about this case already starting to form in his head.

"She's well, she's very eccentric," Bodybag interjected with great emphasis on the last word." She's a spinster by choice, never had a man about the house to look after things. She used to have a collection of similarly minded female friends but they've died off one by one and she's rattling around on her own in that large mansion of hers."

"Let's put it this way, have you had the neighbours call you out because of their concerns? Have you had much to do with her doctor? Does she call you out in the middle of the night for no good reason in an attention seeking fashion? Does she have a home help round or meals on wheels round to make sure she doesn't put her cat in the fridge?" demanded Jim Patterson in his typically cynical, quickfire fashion.

"Well, er no," Bodybag confessed looking sheepish," but she is very eccentric, I can assure you, speaking as a professional from years of locking up the dregs of humanity as well as knowing her personally." Jim Patterson intercepted the warning look from Bobby not to get carried away in her sales talk. He was beginning to get that sinking feeling that they were on a loser.

"Well, let's see if we can glean anything from our contacts. You say she's already made a will. Do you know what practice she's used?"

"Well, by some sheer coincidence we think she might have used this practice," Bodybag confessed sheepishly under Jim Patterson's searching gaze. He immediately picked up the phone and asked for a check to be made. Sure enough, the Margaret Winters file was brought through. Strictly speaking, he was debarred from touching a client who might counter sue an existing client that a colleague was dealing with. Nevertheless, as Bob and he were saying the other night over the third straight whisky in a moment of out of focus sentimentality, there were rules and there were rules. The way society was going these days, cutting through needless red tape was definitely very appealing.

"So who's involved in this shenanigans?" exploded Bodybag, her curiosity

"Let me see. You will keep your source of knowledge confidential, Bob as there could be legal consequences if we don't watch our step," Jim Patterson confided with a sharp meaning look.

"You can count on us Jim."

"In that case, here's a copy of the will for you to look at. I don't see any problem in letting you look at it as your wife is a named beneficiary."

The couple strained their eyes to work their way through the legal gobbledygook but finally, Bodybag's face turned purple as the implications sank in. She looked as if she was going to blow a gasket until she finally found her voice.

"Well, of all the diabolical liberty. She promised us the she'd leave us a mere quarter of her estate and now she's gone back on her word and now she's cut us down to a mere one thousand five hundred pounds. I might have known not to trust her word. Her type is very sly and deceitful."

"So who are all these women, Sylv? I've never heard of them before," questioned Bobby.

"I don't know them from Adam. I suppose they are some of Wade's friends. What I don't understand is who this John Deed character fits. Must be like some kind of lawyer," pronounced Bodybag loudly and setting the man's character in stone for all the world to accept as fact.

"Perhaps he's working some kind of scam. Why else should a man get involved with these calculating women? It doesn't add up otherwise," Bobby intervened, the slow weight of his voice emphasizing his 'man of the world' businessman persona.

"My colleague's secretary has helpfully noted his address."

"Give it to us," demanded Bodybag to the accompaniment of Bobby's raised eyebrow." We'll jolly well go round and talk to him. What I don't know of that precious pair, Stewart and Wade, can be put into a cigarette packet. He's their weak spot. He doesn't know their scheming minds. That will put a spoke in their wheel if he is persuaded to back out," Bodybag exclaimed triumphantly.

"You hear what Jim said, Sylv. We can't land him in any trouble," Bobby protested in alarm.

"Don't worry, Jim. We'll be ever so discreet. You know that years in the prison service have taught me to handle things in a delicate fashion if need be not to mention the help I give you with the business," Bodybag answered in soothing tones.

"All I'm telling you, Bob is be careful," Jim Patterson advised anxiously as he saw the man to man deal with Bob Hollamby start to slip through his fingers thanks to this domineering woman. He lay back limply in his chair.

**********

On a bright sunny afternoon, John Deed drove back calmly to the digs and parked his car with a smart flourish. After all this time, an apologetic Helen had phoned him up to make contact with him and to give hers and Nikki's regrets that they hadn't been in contact recently. They had been particularly busy recently.

"Why don't you come round to my digs after work and grab a bite to eat? I know how busy life can get. Alternatively, we could meet somewhere for lunch."

"If it's all right with you, tonight seems fine by us. That's better than having one eye on the clock and rushing back to work," came Helen's enthusiastic reply after a faintly audible exchange of words with Nikki.

"That's great then," John enthused in response." Just pop round. The butler will show you in."

He was leaning back in the high chair, the long dining table stretching either side of him, covered with a starched white tablecloth when he received a message.

"There's a man and woman coming to talk to you."

John pricked up his ears in slight concern. Surely the butler, set in his ways as he was, couldn't make an elementary blunder in his description of the unmistakably feminine Nikki, even with her short-cropped hair and invariable trouser suit?

"Show them in," he said guardedly.

At once, a very loud and argumentative North Country female voice and a gravelly voiced man disturbed the accustomed atmosphere of tranquillity of his home. John knew instantly that he had to deal with these interlopers and fast.


	30. Chapter 30

Scene Thirty

The first sight of the Hollambys did not reassure John. The middle-aged woman stomped towards him, wearing both an aggressive scowl on her face and a sensible coat and heavy shoes ensemble. She was definitely Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells personified. The man wore ridiculously long grey sideboards and his craggy face wore a hostile expression.

"Are you Mr. John Deed?" questioned woman in inquisitorial tones.

John was quite surprised to find that this woman amused him. He had grown to be fairly particular in being addressed, 'judge' not 'my lord' by Coope, and 'Sir John' by others. This woman clearly hadn't the foggiest idea as to who he was. Mischievously, he decided to offer her a long rope to hang herself with.

"Yes, some might call me that," he answered dryly." And just who are you?"

"My name is Sylvia Hollamby," the woman replied, laying particularly pompous emphasis on the word. "And this is my husband Bobby."

Instantly, John made the mental connection. During his friendly conversations with Nikki

and Helen at the soiree and at the pub, the two women had made scathing references to her and had drawn a particularly vivid pen picture of the woman. He was delighted to find that they were spot on. He could put himself in the shoes of such a free-spirited woman like Nikki, and he would be particularly impudent and disrespectful, Similarly, he deeply empathized with Helen in having such an albatross hung round her neck. The burden of responsibility for her would have tried the patience of Job.

"You may well be," chuckled John with a faint smirk on his face," but that doesn't explain what business you have with me. It's only reasonable that you give me an explanation."

Monty Everard entered the room at this moment, rubbed his eyes incredulously, waiting for John's wrath to fall on this thoroughly unpleasant couple. He sat down and watched events unfold. He trusted that John was perfectly capable of handling the situation.

"I am coming to see you on behalf of my aunt, Miss Margaret Winters. I have been given to understand that you have pushed yourself forward as executor of her will and are colluding with a crowd of disreputable woman to steal her money."

"I'd like to know what legal qualifications you have to undertake this responsible task. You can't have any Tom, Dick or Henry coming off the streets and mucking around with someone else's money."

As Bobby Hollamby loudly pronounced his judgment, Monty momentarily put his hand over his eyes in despair but after seeing this mischievous glint in John's eyes, he realized that he was on the front row of this outrageous farce. He sat back with fascination as to what John would make of the situation.

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Hollamby. People should not get into situations for which they are not qualified to act. Perhaps you care to enlighten me about your aunt and what you see as the problem?"

"I am my aunt's only surviving relative and she is very naïve and easily influenced. Somehow these designing women got to know my aunt and have exploited her affections. Somehow, they've cajoled her into leaving her mansion and her savings to her except for a small pittance to me. I am very fond of her as she's my only surviving family as my own mother and father passed away. You must understand that I'm only acting out of principle, in seeing to it that everything stays in the family. We're not acting out of material gain, you understand."

"They're just a shower of scheming lesbians," Bobby grated out in tones of unrestrained disgust." You want to be very careful in the company you keep these days."

"You interest me. As a man of the world, I find it not uncommon to come across schemers, at all levels of society. What I don't understand is just what these woman's sexuality have to do with their alleged dishonesty?" John said in his most innocent tones. To the side of them, a broad grin spread across Monty's face as he could appreciate the delicious humour of the situation.

"If I might explain, I work in a woman's prison. It's a natural breeding ground for lesbians. I mean they're well away with all those women locked up twenty hour seven. You get to see how devious and scheming they are when you've worked as long as I have in the prison service. You get to recognize the signs of what's going on?"

"I must admit I'm confused. Are all these woman prisoners or ex-prisoners or are only some of them? I mean how did they get to meet?"

"You…you don't understand," spluttered Bodybag at this particularly obtuse man who was beginning to madden her with his straw splitting questions. Surely he ought to understand the situation? Bobby could see how Sylv's patience was starting to wear thin. He decided to get to the point and stop waffling. There was one clear question that hadn't been asked and he wanted a straight answer from this smooth talking character.

"I hope you don't mind but I'm within my rights in asking you what qualifications you have in taking on this job of executor. It's an important responsibility, you know."

"That question is easily answered, Mr. Hollamby. I am a High Court judge and, in case you didn't know it, this is a judges lodgings that you've entered."

Vera Everard briefly entered the room, the clicking sound of her smart shoes echoing round the sudden stillness but as she heard John's voice, she darted out of the way. To her narrow minded viewpoint, she regarded him as one most likely to lead her husband astray. She didn't see that the Hollambys were opening and closing their mouths like goldfish, unable to say a word.

"I have heard you viciously slander a two very good friends of mine. They are a very close lesbian couple, Nikki Wade and Helen Stewart, two of the most honourable people who I've had the great pleasure of getting to know," John proclaimed in vibrantly passionate tones. There's another one, he thought grimly to himself of Monty's wife. "I know such a lot about the situation. I know for a start that you have been avariciously scheming to get your hands on your lesbian aunt's money, that you have despised and neglected her for years and Nikki and Helen are if anything, a little embarrassed at benefiting from an unasked for legacy. They have done more to support your lonely and very remarkable aunt in a short time more than you have ever done in your whole life, Mrs Hollamby or should I address you as Old Bodybag?"

The Hollambys wanted to sink through their floor as this dangerous man tore aside the elaborate façade of their respectable lives, leaving them naked and embarrassed. This man was clearly very dangerous. How the hell did he know her nickname, which she pretended not to be aware of? At that moment of silence, John's mobile started to ring and he took the call.

"That's Helen and Nikki. They're making their way here on my invitation to eat here. I trust there are no objections?"

The timing was immaculate. Helen was dressed in her favourite power dressing blue suit, her skirt ending a few inches above her knees. She strode forward confidently, a few steps ahead of Nikki but they both quick-wittedly took in the situation. Helen grinned at the visibly sweating couple and extended her hand.

"Hiya, judge. It's very kind of you to offer us your hospitality. I've had a rough day at the office."

Bodybag spluttered helplessly at Stewart's annoying assumption of easy familiarity with this wretched man. She was equally angry with her Bobby in letting the cat out of the bag. Why doesn't he say something rather than standing there like a stuffed dummy?

"I can see you've got company already," Nikki observed dryly." Is this visit convenient?"

"You know them already, Nikki?" John asked the taller woman who grinned at this man's astute move. He was as good in a verbal double act as anyone she'd ever known.

"I should think so, judge, at least Bodybag is," Nikki observed dryly." I've only come across her husband when we rescued Margaret from their house and again when they parked their hearse in front of our front door and started mouthing off to us as gold diggers."

"Whereas as you know, the boot was very much on the other foot," chimed in Helen." You know, I remember the times I worked as a wing governor for Larkhall Prison and I still get angry at the way that you and your precious accomplice Jim Fenner conspired behind my back with their hotline to that treacherous incompetent, Simon Stubberfield who was bound to side with them against me. I still wonder how I managed to hold my head up. I deserved better."

"That's a jolly bad show, Helen," exclaimed Monty sympathetically, feeling how rapidly how Helen's rage built up so rapidly. To his trained eye, he knew very well who he'd put his money on as to who was telling the truth.

"Don't get worked up, darling," Nikki said in soothing tones, squeezing the smaller woman's hand." They're not worth getting upset about."

"Indeed they're not," John pronounced in ominous tones. "Their presence is no longer wanted. I ought to warn the pair of you that I've heard how you've been harassing my friends and you ought to be very careful. Far be it for me to dish out any off the hoof legal advice but any repetition of this could call forth an injunction order. Just to make this quite clear, any breach of this would become a criminal matter and you could be hauled before a judge such as Monty or I and face the full sanction and severity of the law. Now I fancy you see yourselves as law-abiding citizens with a social position to maintain. You wouldn't want to see that publicly imperiled, would you?"

Both Hollambys blanched before the full force of the precisely articulated verbal force of John's address as he shifted his mode of speaking into judge mode. Both Helen and Nikki grinned openly at the force of personality that was unleashed at the precious pair, who shrank into the carpet. What was worst of all was that Wade and Stewart were clearly going to be favoured guests. The social humiliation of being at the bottom of the pecking order was unendurable to two people who thrived on such vanities.

"Let's get out while the going's good, Sylv," muttered Bobby under his breath and the luckless couple edged their way out towards the door to the outside.

**********

"You don't mind having to publicly defend and explain us," Nikki questioned as she dug into her helping of shepherd's pie and veg with surprising enthusiasm considering that it wasn't her favourite food. As she thought about it, the taste of it was good partly because conventional social mores would have that them excluded from such privileged surroundings

"There's a certain irony in this situation. If I'd brought back an attractive and clearly available woman, I would be open to censure. Once a still very much hung over Jo Mills slipped out of the digs first thing in the morning only to be spotted by the morals squad."

"My wife, Vera of course," interjected Monty in tones, evidently disapproving of her, not of John's witty description of her

"Jo is a sometime lover of mine who appeared before me as a barrister and she narrowly escaped being taken off the road at an internal disciplinary hearing. When it is announced that you are a couple then, attractive though you undoubtedly are, you become peculiarly safer."

Nikki started laughing heartily at the droll irony of the situation, and was soon overtaken by Helen's loud tones. The humour was too rich.

"Safe? That's a new one on both of us," Helen grinned appreciatively.

"That's what we have in common." John pronounced cheerfully." You may not know it but your company is especially welcome tonight."

"We should have contacted each other before now," Helen answered the unspoken thought tenderly, without any reproach. Immediately, her mood shifted into a more cheerful vein." You've heard both of us sound off about the Hollambys, John. Just how good was our description of Sylvia?" Helen grinned.

"She really is unendurable. I suppose every organization has one."

"Unfortunately," Nikki commented. Her laconic one liner said it all for them. It didn't mean there wasn't any hope, just that there was a universal obstacle to be overcome.

.


	31. Chapter 31

Scene Thirty-One

As the four of them drank in the afternoon's sunshine, John felt in a particularly mellow mood. As he sipped at a cup of tea, his thoughts were free floating and suddenly lighted on an amusing memory.

"Incidentally, Monty**, **Margaret Winters is a very good mutual friend of Helen and Nikki and I dare say mine, something that woman doesn't know," John continued cheerfully, his pointedly hostile reference to Bodybag drawing broad grins from his female friends. "I was round Margaret's house the other day and I couldn't help admiring this very fine painting of three naked ladies on her wall. Margaret explained that she was the one in the middle facing away from the painter and her late partner Julia was the lady on the left. The lady on the right is none other than Ian's aunt, Olivia Rochester."

Nikki's mouth dropped open a mile until she quickly regained her wits and found her voice.

"You don't mean that stuffed shirt?"

"Your description of Ian is quite right, Nikki, but how the devil did you come to know the man?" Monty replied with amused surprise.

"Helen and I were having a drink with John and he and his sidekick gave him a load of grief. I can't believe it but he had the cock-eyed idea that we were John's girlfriends- both at the same time or whatever. I mean, we're both card carrying lesbians for God's sake."

Helen burst into hearty laughter at the rising tide of bemusement in Nikki's voice, and the way her eyebrows arched in a shape of incomprehension.

"You didn't tell me about this, John," Monty put in when his own laughter had ceased. Once their female friends had started the ball rolling, he felt safe that his own intense amusement would be understood right.

"I hardly knew how to phrase it delicately," John answered elaborately shrugging his shoulders with a half smile on his face.

"So the aunt of this very repressed and anally retentive guy who probably arranges his paperclips in neat lines is one of Margaret's outrageous lesbian friends," broke in Helen, her psychology degree kicking in." I bet he's been brought up, like Bodybag, to be very scared and ashamed of untamed passions and dangerous thoughts."

John's laugh was rich, full bodied and expressed his delighted appreciation of Helen's perceptive character sketch. This moment was crying out for the evening to continue, not just fizzle out with polite goodbyes. The obvious idea flashed in his mind like a lightbulb.

"I'll tell you what. Why don't we all continue this excellent evening over a bottle in Monty's room?" he exclaimed, the light of joy in his eyes.

"There's a problem, Monty. Either Nikki or I will have to stay on the wagon. We can hardly ask for dispensation from the local coppers pleading special dispensation because of drinking with two high court judges," interjected Helen politely but rapidly.

"Believe it or not, I forgot that," muttered John, slightly embarrassed at his oversight.

"Okay," Nikki said, exchanging a sidelong glance with Helen. "I've spent nine years jointly running a gay club so I've had my share of booze in my time. I think I can enjoy myself on orange juice but Helen does like a drink or two."

"We'll arrange the orange. That's jolly decent of you both. I'm glad the evening won't end soon," Monty said in peculiarly shy and bashful tones.

"Are you partial to whisky, Helen?" Monty enquired.

"I've never tried it before but I do like strong spirits. I'll try anything once," Helen said the light of an impending party in her eyes. Both women knew that they were as safe as houses with these two honourable men, despite their reputations to the contrary.

The evening passed in a delightful haze in the middle of the fairly plush suite, a bottle of malt whisky periodically passing from hand to hand round the table in the center of the room. The potent spirits stung Helen's throat to begin with until she got used to it. Nikki topped herself with the orange that the butler kindly brought up. The sunlight started to go down and as they talked about the world, the universe and everything, and they relaxed with that nice mellow feeling of good company and being happily drunk. The lights were turned down low and all this took Helen back to her university days. She had to work hard to keep up with these two men, obviously seasoned drinkers. The world was nicely blurred and happy until the world suddenly exploded before their eyes.

The door crashed back against the wall, and a frightening vision suddenly appeared before Helen's bleary eyes. This couldn't be real, she told herself as her fogged mind tried to get a handle on reality. This female vision wearing a stiff suit in a revolting shade of pink, hair strangely shaped into tightly curled blond brown coiffure whose shocked beady eyes matched her loud domineering voice.

"Monty, do I see you and your disreputable friend on a debauch with two still more disreputable women? Honestly, words fail me."

"Vera, you've got completely the wrong end of the stick. We are having a perfectly innocent drink with two very dear friends of ours. There's been nothing going on but intelli…intelligent conversation," John said slightly slurring his words, contrasting with his normal precise enunciation.

"And you've been getting drunk as lords as well," sniffed Vera dismissively.

Nikki was sharp and alert in a second and she blew a fuse at this Naval Officer wife type, typical of her mother's unpleasant friends she'd come across when she'd lived at home.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but you're butting in on a private party where you're not wanted."

"I beg your pardon, this man is my husband, I'll have you know."

Helen slid onto the floor laughing hysterically at this stolen line from a bad Whitehall farce. She didn't know they said things like this these days. It drew a severely disapproving look from Vera, especially as this woman was highly attractive and glowing. .

"Someone had better introduce us to this woman," called out Nikki.

"This is my wife, Vera Everard. Vera, on my left is our good friend Nikki Wade and on my right our equally good friend Helen Stewart."

"And where did you pick them up?"

Monty rolled his eyes with despair and John was clearly starting to seethe with anger. However, Nikki beat him to the punch. She drew herself up to her full height, planted her hands on her hips and let fly.

"Vera, let's get a few things straight. Helen and I are lesbians, a couple, like we're effectively married to each other and if the laws of England were changed, we'd be walking up the aisle straightaway. John told you that we're friends, right. That is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Well, in our world, if we do know male friends, there can be nothing but a platonic friendship between us. It doesn't matter how we came to know other. The point is that we do. All we've been doing is getting happily pissed together, all except me as I'll be driving Helen home. Do I have to spell it out clearer than this?"

John and Monty murmured 'hear hear' in support. They felt as mentally fogged as Helen and they were both immensely grateful that one of them was up to talking tough. It worked as Vera flinched at the verbal fireworks. Deep within her sluggish mind, she started to consider that this mannish looking woman was either shamelessly lying or else there might be something in what she said. There was one question that she couldn't work out.

"So what are a couple of lesbians doing round here?"

"Does it matter why and do you really want Helen and I to prove we're lesbians? I mean right here?" Nikki said softly, her eyes dancing with amusement, a wicked smile on her lips. Helen laughingly staggered to her feet and collapsed into Nikki's arms, a challenging smile on her parted lips. Nikki clasped Helen tauntingly in full sight of this obviously sexually repressed woman. The two men were grinning broadly.

"I'll…I'll take your word for it. Nevertheless, I want this room vacated in half an hour as I want my sleep even if no one else does," came the very sniffy reply as she averted her gaze from the two women.

"Sounds fair enough," Helen yawned as tiredness swept over her like a sudden wave." Nikki and I'll be heading off for bed in a bit. After all, it's your room."

Vera turned round on her heel and dramatically stalked out, her wound up temperament giving out waves of tension.

"Rather you than me," Helen said sympathetically, without thinking to the accompaniment of John and Nikki's laughter.

"Helen, she's a habit, hard to give up like smoking. Right now, I don't like to think too much of her. She's the resident scandal monger and has the peculiar trait of wanting, as the wife of a High Court judge to sit in on rape trials, the gorier the better."

"Monty, that's perverted," Helen shouted out, her face darkening at the man's voice, which was too studiedly detached for her liking. "I'm really sorry, I wasn't getting at you. I understand," she added as she realized that this was his way of dealing with his emotions. She realized that she'd got out of touch in interacting with men who expressed their feelings in a veiled fashion.

"I'm sorry too. It was insensitive and crass of me to mention that. We shouldn't let this little misunderstandings get in the way of our friendship."

Finally Nikki helped a rather wobbly Helen to her feet who gave the two men a sweeping wave of farewell before being steered in the direction of the door to Monty's suite. Both men smiled as best as they could not help but ruefully think how better their lives might have been with two sweetly intelligent women like these.

********

The next day Helen took a long time to recover from her particularly malignant hangover. Helen lay in her pit while Nikki's very offensive brand of healthiness managed to grate on Helen's nerves despite her attempt at unobtrusiveness.

"Can't you breathe less loudly? My head's killing me," Helen groaned from under the quilt.

"It's not my fault that you felt compelled to keep up with two experienced drinkers darling," Nikki said in sweetly reasonable tones from round the corner of the bedroom and dodged sideways round a forcibly thrown cushion directed at her. She left Helen to it until she judged the right point when Helen became amenable to reason.

"I'll fetch you something from the chemist for a super hangover, right," She said in soothing tones, laying her hand on what she judged was Helen's shoulder. In response, a mop of tousled hair and two green eyes looked appealingly at her.

"Please, babes."

Nikki smiled and drove out quickly to the chemist and dispensed an extra fizzy potion that, thanks to the long lie in, enabled her to focus on the outside world. Finally, Helen separated herself from her quilt and both women realized that couldn't wait for the next visit to Margaret to talk about the third woman in the portrait.

************

"Margaret, John's just told us about the third woman in the picture," the two younger women practically chorused as they virtually bounded into the now familiar living room. "You might have told us."

"I can do better than that," Margaret answered a definite twinkle in her eye." The story as to how the picture was made was definitely one of my red-letter days in my life. If you ever get to meet Olivia's horrible nephew, perhaps you should pass the story on."

"Unless you do," Nikki replied mischievously. "Straight from the horse's mouth."

"Straight from the lover's bed might be more appropriate. I mean it's always better to invent your own metaphor than rely upon hand me downs."

"Never mind your very true point about proverbs," practically wailed Helen her eyes begging for mercy while Nikki's spirits soared at this remarkable woman's mental dexterity which moved like lightning. By now, the superficial layer of respectable, white haired old lady was long gone. For all that, she was as eager as Helen to hear the story." Tell us all about it."

"You don't mind me and Jenny coming round," Claire's voice sounded from the hall."The door was left open and we couldn't resist."

"You've come at just the right time," she laughed, calling out easy instructions. "You know where are the teapot, five cups and saucers, milk and sugar."

She might sometimes be these four women's mother, she thought to herself indulgently. Certainly she surprised herself in not being the least nervous at any of them being let loose in her kitchen and was generally understood as the highest compliment. Her dear friends' child like enthusiasm was catching, the older woman reflected as, once again, she summoned up the visions of the past while Jenny's north country ways poured them all a nice cup of tea.


	32. Chapter 32

Scene Thirty Two

Margaret could remember that feeling of cultural malaise that had gradually settled on them all during the nineteen fifties. Like anyone else, they had had their own vision of peace when the bombs would cease dropping and the guns would cease firing. The problem was that somehow life didn't work out the way they wanted.

The effects of Julia's parents dying within the same year had a peculiar mixed impact on her. Emotionally, it hit her hard but practically, it meant that she and Margaret came to inherit her parent's estate. Inside the walls of their mansion, they felt the world closing in on them. Now they were in their early thirties, this should not be the case as they should be in the prime of their lives. It didn't feel that way.

Four women were seated in Julia and Margaret's living room. Olivia Rochester was Julia's dearest friend from before the war and she brought along her artist lover, Virginia Bellamy, whose medium length slightly wavy brown hair was swept back off her face. They looked out into the back garden and what depressed their spirits were the surly grey skies overhead and the slanting lines of rain lashing against the windows.

"And this is supposed to be a typical British summer," Margaret said in disgruntled tones as she paced backwards and forwards like a caged tiger." It should be a sunny summer's day where we could have a picnic in the garden. I feel so chained up inside."

"You mean tea and jam scones on the terrace. Margaret. How very nineteen thirties," interjected Virginia teasingly." Aren't you sure that you're as much attracted to nostalgia as anyone these days?"

"You should know that my childhood memories were roast beef, Yorkshire pudding served with prejudice sauce and garnished with diced proverbs. My best memories were of hiding out in the back garden, the part that hadn't been civilized into surrender," retorted Margaret warmly.

"It's not nostalgia, per se, that I'm against," slid in Olivia the peacemaker as often happened in their get together." It seems as if there's a conspiracy to sell us a fraudulent version of it. Can you really say that these new film stars have the depth or edge of Marlene Dietrich or Greta Garbo? They're all ridiculously blond and glossy. The advertisers are moving in everywhere and taking over everything that was once spontaneous and free."

There was a murmur of assent to the cutting edge of Olivia's criticism. It seemed that the dawn of mass culture foisted the second rate on them all and they didn't like it one bit.

"So boring, darlings," Julia exclaimed with disgust, reaching for her silver cigarette case with a controlled angry gesture and fiddling feverishly to snap it open." The cinema is getting impossible. All I see about us are terrifically heroic deeds of how men with gritted teeth fought the last war or else a variation of let's play happy families."

"You mean, get married, have babies, back to the kitchen sink and happily wave hubby off to work and look through knitting patterns and cake recipes. Well, it's not what I ever wanted," retorted Virginia with disgust.

"It's happening in reality. I can think of friends of our acquaintance who have split up from their partners and no matter what they say, I feel sure that it's because they feel the biological clock start to run down. Of course, they have been ever so discreet so that Miss So and So, Spinster of the Parish of Wherever can get married to Mr. Right. They're talking themselves into marriages that are doomed from the start as how can forget the past? I mean, how can they forget the years they were at odds with their parents only to suddenly capitulate to them?" Julia observed in mixed tones of incredulity and bitter realism.

Julia tried to think that such acts were understandable given the circumstances and that they were guilty only of self-betrayal. It was hard to be that generous when someone's ex-partner landed on her doorstep in floods of tears wondering where she had gone wrong. It hurt her that she and Margaret had offered such inadequate words of comfort that sounded thin, flimsy and pathetic.

"Now we're being written out of history. It's the case of, now your bit of excitement's done, it's the case of back to normal now that the husband's home from the war and it's back to the kitchen sink. As if," Margaret said more angrily. She knew that her beloved was telling no more than the truth and equally feared for all of them to be sucked down into the void.

"All this is just about bearable it if it weren't for what's happening on our side of the fence," Julia observed in flat tones." On a sudden impulse, we drove out to Chelsea for a night out at the Gateways club, as we hadn't been there for a long while. We trotted down the narrow staircase entrance, feeling full of the joys of spring. We wanted to cheer ourselves up and dance the night away in a small claustrophobic club like we all used to do during the war. I was dressed in my usual smart white jacket and trousers. I'd spent ages on my lipstick and makeup and my hair felt nice and glossy. Margaret was wearing one of her glamorous dresses. In other words, we felt good about ourselves. As soon as we got into the club, we noticed that something had changed. It wasn't us but most of the others. We looked around and saw all these younger women in suits, shirts and ties with short slicked back hair. Butches, they call them these days."

"I can guess what's coming. The trouble is that Gateways has always been our social Mecca, especially during the war. It was full of gaiety and freedom then," Virginia said grimly.

"We realised for the first time that times had moved on," Julia continued."We expected to see the people we'd known or people looking like them. For the first time, we felt sort of out of place in our outfits, since fashion had changed drastically and the majority of the women seemed to have acquired a 'new set of uniforms.' We did our best not to think too much of it as Gateways has always had a mixed crowd and we wanted to enjoy ourselves."

"So what happened?" asked Olivia.

"Worse was to come. We fought our way to the bar as we always had to and, in the crush, and Margaret accidentally spilled a drink over some young drunk butch. 'What do you think you are doing, granny?', she shouted in her face. 'I beg your pardon. I've been coming here before you were in ankle socks,' Margaret retorted in her best grand dame style. She hit us with 'Yeah, well that's your problem then.'"

"That really got to both of us," Margaret intervened as Julia was struggling." Julia had the presence of mind to grab my drink with one hand and shepherd me out of the way to the billiard needed to talk and get our bearings."

"She sounds appalling, totally rude and aggressive," Virginia exclaimed angrily.

"That was part of the problem. My repartee has never let me down before now. That insulting remark sparked some hidden fear that our times at the Club have gone."

"It's a silly incident, that could actually have happened anywhere," Olivia protested." Let's face it, Gateways never used to be the stuff of Ladies Finishing School."

"Maybe we were just lucky or times really have changed in this way as well as others. Either way, it's bad news for us. That evening really brought home the difference in age, and language that has sprung up. I swear I've never noticed it before."

These gloomy words left a chill gloom on the proceedings. They felt as if they were attending a wake, the slow strangulation of their ideals with the passing of the years. Finally, Olivia felt compelled to step in, as the silence was painfully oppressive.

"They had to use us in the war as the country would have fallen apart without us. I mean, I ferried the most modern aircraft straight off the production lines for the men to fight with. I really liked flying Spitfires the most. There's nothing like the feeling of flying a high performance aircraft – or the feeling of the engine of a Triumph motorcycle vibrating between your legs."

Virginia smiled broadly at the mischievous humour in Olivia's bold statement. She was as conscious as anyone of the bitter truth of Julia's statement but she was determined at the least to go down fighting. Besides, her words recalled how much she loved riding pillion behind her girlfriend and holding onto her waist. All four women looked round at each other. They sensed that they were approaching a moment of decision, good or bad.

"Well, we ought to do something about that," Virginia said with a sudden access of determination making the move for all of them. "I want to paint a picture of the three of you. I'm in the mood for it and my painting kit is in the car."

"That's a great idea, darlings," Julia exclaimed as the sun started to break through her dark mood. Thoughts started to work round her mind of the possible details. "Haven't we got to work out what clothes each one of us would like to wear?"

"That's not necessary. I have the simple solution. This is to be a nude picture. It will be a statement that women only need each other to be complete. Do you want to join up for this?"

"I am only too delighted to, Olivia. You're a darling, a lifesaver," Julia said in her extravagant manner. A wide smile spread across the fair haired woman's lips and her blue eyes lit up with the mischievousness that first attracted her lover, all those years ago in a far off, faraway hotel in a Northern town. She held a cigarette and placed it in a black cigarette holder and lit up with one of her trademark, extravagant gestures. This brought tears to Margaret's eyes and determined her to stand up and be counted.

"This will be a totally new experience to me but I'm delighted with Olivia's suggestion. I'll step forward where no woman has trod before," chipped in Margaret, not to be outdone.

"How on earth can you stand to paint the picture of three highly attractive women and be disciplined enough to keep your hormones under control," grinned Julia.

"Oh you don't know what it is to suffer in the noble cause of art, to view your physical charms yet to refrain and stick to artistic creation. "Rather than sexual creativeness," added Olivia mischievously." Personally, I'm delighted to do something to defy that revoltingly mealy mouthed puritan brother of mine, and his wife and their son who I can see in dutifully following in his father's footsteps. My brother still can't come to terms that India has won its independence and the British Empire is looking decidedly creaky at the seams. There he is, ingratiating his way onwards and ever upwards in his stuffy office in Whitehall and plotting his son's education. I'm the outcast of my family and delighted to be that way."

"So let's do it and spit in his eye," Virginia enthused, delighted at how her suggestion had gone down. .

"So how soon can you set everything up?" Margaret enquired. She had thought in her detached way that that this was a nice academic discussion to be realized at some time in the future.

"Right now if I get help to bring in my easel. Everything's in my car. You both take it easy while Olivia helps me."

As Olivia trailed after her determined partner, Julia and Margaret exchanged bewildered glances at the rapidity of today's developments.

"We've really talked ourselves into this, darling."

"We should have expected it from Virginia. You know how carried away she gets," Julia answered Margaret, the half smile on her face at the way they'd been neatly manoeuvred into this project expanding into a broad grin.

The other two women emerged into the forecourt and their spirits were lifted by the arc of brilliant blue sky upwind of them that were getting larger by the minute. With only a few dying blasts of rain in their faces, they busied themselves getting the gear out of the round, solid grey Austin A30. As they strolled back, Olivia caught a glimpse of the new fangled spiky television aerial festooned on the chimney pot of the house across the road but they paid it no attention. In the meantime, Margaret reached out for Julia's hand and stroked her fingers gently in a similarly buoyed up mood, thanks to her lover's new found spirit of positivism.

"I'm really sorry for my horrid mood earlier on, darling. Everything has been getting on top of me. That 'stiff upper lip' attitude might be fine for fighting wars with but it's pretty useless for affairs of the heart," Julia said shakily. She was smiling through pinpricks of tears, as the memory of her rotten mood of earlier on suddenly hit her with pangs of guilt.

"Don't you know I can feel what we're feeling, darling? I should know you very well by now. We've been together for fourteen years now. Fourteen glorious years," came Margaret's slow, lovingly articulated words as her arm slid round Julia's slim shoulders.

"We'd better make the best of kissing and cuddling each other. Pretty soon, we'll be naked. For once, we'll be able to see but not touch. Think what a hardship that will be," she exclaimed with mock horror.

"If it takes this to tell the world just who we are, it will be worth it. We have to accept that making history can be hard work."

*********

"So this brilliantly subversive painting that really took the piss out of Bodybag in Larkhall prison was conceived as kicking against a smug conformist society," broke in Nikki from a later epoch. Margaret turned her head sideways to take in her new friend. How splendidly her new friends would have mixed in with Julia, Olivia and Virginia. The shades of her old friends smiled in agreement with Margaret and nodded their heads. It felt as if they all took to each other immediately. They were glad that Margaret had found friends with such an intelligent interest in life in all its facets, the same that they were.

"The best is still to come," crinkled Margaret's face mischievously, as her younger self started to become keyed up in anticipation. Even the sophisticated Claire felt some eager child, wanting to hear the happy ending to this bedtime story while Jenny was open mouthed in anticipation.


	33. Chapter 33

Scene Thirty Three

"So just how do you want to arrange us, darling? I understand the idea of the triptych well enough," asked Margaret, her enthusiasm and imagination, rapidly kindling

Virginia thought long and hard about the idea. Images of semi-classical backgrounds, of marble columns and Garden of Eden style of greenery went through her mind and were all dismissed. She didn't want them to apologise for themselves in linking up with classical themes. All three women were statuesque enough anyway. Finally, the lightbulb of inspiration flashed off inside her head and she opted for the sense of mystery of one of them facing away from the painter. It would neatly show female nakedness, back and front. They would use a plain and simple spare white room, whose shuttered windows were drawn back. It was sparsely furnished with a comfortable sofa and a single bed. She would 'broad brush' in her background around the women and make the picture stark, modern direct as they all conceived of themselves as being. Instantly, she dictated her directions and got instant agreement.

"I'll be the one facing away. It will keep people guessing just who I am,"volunteered Margaret teasingly.

All three women felt curiously shy as they took off their clothes, laid them down in neat piles and moved to the plain white background that Virginia had decided on. She edged them into position and gave directions to arrange them just so. Margaret was prevailed upon to put her weight on one leg and to precisely place her arm round Julia's waist. Julia was in turn persuaded to cross her legs in front of each other and look straight, directly at Victoria. This suited her personality down to ground. Olivia was asked to look slightly downcast while the dark haired woman's other arm delicately graced her shoulders.

"You all look totally divine darlings," exclaimed Virginia." I'll get down to work straightaway. What I want you to do is to remember just how to hold your pose as you'll be here for quite a while."

"Er how long is that?" asked Margaret timidly. It crossed her mind that they might have to stand rigidly for quite some time but she was not sure how long.

"Whenever I say you're ready to stop. You'll have rest breaks of course," commanded Virginia the light of artistic control in her eye." You must realize that you're all in my power."

"At least sure that my best cheek is shown to advantage darling," sang out Margaret mischievously.

That broke up the tableau. All three women were shaking with laughter and held each other up at but even Margaret felt the artist's wrath through the back of her head. Julia and Olivia were more exposed to the withering look from Virginia whose dominant personality was allowed full rein.

"That does it. Risqué jokes are completely banned for the duration until I've got this masterpiece committed to canvas."

"All right Miss," the three women meekly said. They tried to imagine that they were statues once again and to be well behaved. While the cool air chilled their skin, Julia felt good inside at the thought of her beloved's arm round her waist. At least this collective endeavour took them away from their introspective gloom and gave them a purpose in life. They would all have to put their libidos on hold while Virginia furiously painted away.

Time felt dislocated from the normal events on which to hand their hats and turned into a constant fixed experience. As it turned out . Virginia was kinder to her three models than her severe words had promised. Just about the moment when all three women were getting really stiff and tired from their rigid positions, Virginia called a temporary halt to the proceedings. Immediately they stretched their limbs and each slipped on a lightweight robe for warmth. They moved towards the comfortable settee, grateful to sink into its comfortable padding. They never expected that nude modelling could be such hard work. "Darlings, I've made the tea for you all. Don't say I don't look after you," sang out Virginia in carrying tones from the kitchen. Presently, she entered the room with a tea tray, her artist's smock slightly smeared with varicoloured streaks and splashes.

"I'll be mother. I know how you each like it," she offered, placing the tray on a coffee table. A broad smile curved her lips now that she could let up on business and survey the not extensively covered women instead of her disciplined hours of studying relative proportions, shape, colours and shading of the curves of three naked ladies.

Julia leaned back elegantly, sipping her tea. She stretched her legs, allowing the v-shaped gap in her robe to widen. It showed off her slim legs to advantage together with a hint of thigh.

"I really could get used to being scantily clad. I feel so free and liberated."

"It's so easy to be an exhibitionist, darling. Just give us time," Margaret joined in, neatly capping the remark in her accustomed fashion. The other two women grinned at this natural comedy double act.

"How's the painting going, dearest," Olivia asked instead in polite tones only to receive the brunt of her partner's mock displeasure.

"Never ask the artist to display her wares until she asks you to and only then will you give unstinting praise…..but since it's you, sweetheart, I've let you into a bit of a secret. I've made a good start. There's a lot more to do yet."

The three models tried not to look disconsolate at the state of the work in progress. They knew they wouldn't have been thanked for any requests to hurry up. They sipped their tea and tried to stretch their limbs to soak up the next phase of rigid posing.

Virginia took them through the sessions in reasonable chunks and, each time, they found it easier to resume their relative positions. The cook air soothed their naked skins and the sunlight bathed them in an amorphous golden glow. They owed it to each other's strengths to maintain their positions while they could hear Virginia murmuring to herself in satisfaction as she conjured their shapes from the flat, matt canvas and gave it contour, colour and shape. Time seemed to pass endlessly as all four women were caught up in their common task. They focused on the necessity of the work of the immediate moment. What felt very strange to them was the way their thoughts turned inwards on themselves, free flowing. All women were naturally talkative but this modeling imposed a discipline, which turned their expressiveness in on themselves

As time went on, certain subtle changes started to creep in amongst the three of them. From the very start, Margaret had had the advantage that she could move her eyes and take in her surroundings once she had mastered the discipline of modelling. While the rigidity of her arm round Julia's waist didn't have the fluidity of feel that she was used to, she became aware of an undertow of pleasurable feelings inside her. She could lovingly study for ages the half profile of Julia's fine features and fair curls with just a flick of her eyes. On the other hand, the feel of her arm round Olivia's shoulders made her feel very kindly towards her close friend, willing to literally stand up and be counted. They all buttressed each other emotionally as well as physically. She hoped that Virginia could capture the feelings that ran through her as she was bathed in the golden glow of the light that poured into the room from behind her. Olivia's natural positivism shone through her as the tangible feel of her friend's support drew her nicely into the group. Her nudity made her feel proud of who she was and defiant of anyone to judge her. She looked directly at her partner and admired the unbounded enthusiasm with which she dedicated herself to the task in hand. On Margaret's other side, Julia felt enfolded and loved. Any amount of hard work was worth the effort as was everything that she'd achieved in her life. Both she and Olivia gloried in the sunlight shining through their window as it dazzled their senses. There was a bewitching, otherworldly feel about this grand occasion.

Finally, stage by stage, the creation inched itself towards the point when Virginia could feel satisfied with what she had achieved. She placed her brushes on the side and pulled her smock over her head.

"You can take a break, darlings," she called out with an evident tone of satisfaction on her voice, which lightened everyone's spirits. Suddenly, they could start to think beyond the immediate task and their perspective of this event started to widen dramatically.

First of all, they stared in wonder at the image of the woman in the center who was facing away from her. Margaret couldn't believe it was herself as she marveled at the grace with which this woman's weight was poised elegantly on one leg and her left arm around the waist of this fair-haired beauty facing her. Julia loved the look of herself and the dainty way her feet were decorously crossed in front of each other. Olivia was overcome by the way that Virginia had captured the essence of her and the way Margaret's right arm enfolded her shoulders protectively. Then they looked at the images of all of them and it was the sense of unity that overwhelmed them. It gave them a strong sense of their immortality, that their spirits would never die, a sentiment that Margaret's new friends emphatically agreed with from afar. This painting made a profound statement to them even though the picture wasn't fully finished. This was history in the making.


	34. Chapter 34

Scene Thirty-Four

A powerful thrill ran through Nikki, Helen, Claire and Jenny as they felt that they were in on the conception of the painting from the very beginning.

"So that was how it happened?" breathed Helen, eyes wide open in wonder. How superficial was their very first experience of the painting a long time ago when she and Nikki had first met this extraordinary woman.

"That's how the painting came to be created," Margaret said with studious deliberation and a twinkle in her eye. "We were really stiff and tired by then so naturally the four of us soaked all the aches and pains out of our systems with the two huge white baths in the building. This was before the age of showers."

"You mean……?" Nikki started to say, a broadening smile stretching across her face.

"Two to a bath as you guessed, Nikki. Of course, the one next to the taps drew the short straw," replied Margaret with blithe self confidence."……which leads us on to what happened next. I'm saving the very best to the very last, darlings," murmured the shiny eyed older woman.

The four women exchanged interested glances and concluded that perhaps they ought to not ask questions and let the story flow at its own sweet pace.

*********

"This is such a special day for all of us. I feel absolutely divine," Julia slowly exclaimed in tones of deep satisfaction at them all." We must round off this occasion with a cocktail, a Julia special. Margaret will help me." As Julia shook up their favourite mixture, selected from the built-in cocktail cabinet in the corner of the room, Margaret played host in selecting the glasses and serving tray for them all. A frisson of excitement ran through Margaret at the thought of the scantily clad party getting under way. The way that Julia's robe wrapped itself around her body suggested what was hidden rather than what was virtuously concealed.

Sure enough, they ceremonially brought in the drinks where Virginia and Olivia had already draped themselves on the sofa.

"I suppose Margaret and I'll take the bed."

"Go ahead, darling, after all it's your house," Virginia retorted mischievously, knowing that this arrangement suited their friends. Julia felt glowingly flirtatious as she sashayed to the bed, elegantly holding her lover's fingers in one hand and a drink in the other. She reclined gracefully, her head in Margaret's lap as she sipped her drink. A heady sense of self-belief wove its way wound the room and drew them all in together as they chatted away. This was the life, she thought, as the mixed spirits flowed through her veins and her hand lazily drew an arc to place her glass temporarily on the side. An indefinable sense buzzed around irresistibly in her head that there needed be that final something to give this special day that extra lift.

"Margaret's been quiet recently. This isn't like her," Olivia suggested, teasing their old friend.

"Maybe it's the cocktail she's been drinking," Victoria sang out lazily. Dressed in their thin robes, she and Olivia were sprawled out on the settee, a half empty glass at her side on the little ornamental drinks table besides her. Victoria knew better than to think that their present mood was all down to alcohol. It only gave them slight edge to their collective languid sense of fulfillment after the hard work of earlier on. Her other hand was linked in her lovers' as they contemplated the world around them. Together, they were sure to fight off the deadly forces of conformity. They could beat them with their strong wills and their creative searching for the indefinable something, somewhere out there. After all, hadn't that been their driving force since they had become aware of the world around them?

"There's one more thing we can do to set the seal on this glorious day without even having to move from where we are. Confess it, we've all been looking for it, "Margaret proclaimed, her blue eyes dancing with mischief.

"You're a tease, Margaret. I'm a hopeless guesser," the inquisitive Virginia moaned at this hopeless conundrum, feeling slightly tipsy.

"The answer's so easy. It's like this," the dark haired woman declaimed as she slowly and deliberately unfastened the belt that contained Julia's doubtful modesty, exposing her shapely breasts. A slow smile spread across the fair-haired woman's face at the train of thought that she had been sharing.

"I thought you'd never ask, darling," Julia said in a deliberate whisper as the two women started to move around each other, carelessly discarding their robes and sliding into a long embrace. The vaguely sensuous feel of the day built up very rapidly into sexual desire as the feeling of cleanness, the alcohol and their nude posing caused them to take fire very quickly.

The other two women gaped in wonder at their friends doing what came naturally. They had always known that they were singly outrageous and as a double act, many times more so.

"Olivia, we really can't let those two very disgraceful women upstage us. We'll never live it down," Virginia said very beguilingly, sliding her arm round the other woman's shoulders.

"You mean you're in the mood darling," Olivia answered, softly kissing her partner's cheek and feeling those familiar fingers sliding through her hair in return.

"Who wouldn't be with Julia and Margaret's lovemaking in the background?" came the answer as growing sighs and moaning sounds in the background left nothing to their lively imaginations. She couldn't switch off her peripheral vision, which took in the growing rhythmic way that their two friends were making love- even if she wanted to. Their slim bodies looked gorgeous in the hazy sunlight, which bathed the scene with that magical feeling that had possessed them.

"We should have grabbed the bed when we had the chance to," she said ruefully, answered by Julia's chuckle of laughter way before Margaret's mouth cut short her sounds of jubilation.

"So we'll have to make the best of it. We've made love on a sofa before," Olivia answered as she boldly untied her lover's belt and exposed her nakedness. The brown haired woman was transported immediately into waves of feelings of desire at being undressed. She immediately stripped off her partner's one doubtfully concealing garment and threw it aside. Hadn't she painted an image of her lover's charms for all these hours? She laid her lover down in the comfortable recesses of the sofa, which nicely encompassed their length. Her lips and tongue set out to explore all Olivia's intimate areas. As Virginia roused her lover to a climax, Margaret and Julia were just starting to come down off theirs. They felt the comforting blanket of their friends' whispered endearments and sounds of mutual pleasure wrap around them all. They felt at one with their friends and knew that they couldn't feel lonely if they put their hearts and minds to it.

********

As the afternoon wore on, all four women were carried along into a magical world of delirious joy and intense sexual pleasure. They were experienced thirty plus lesbians but the thought had not occurred to them of the four of them sharing their sexual pleasures in such an intimate yet strangely respectable fashion. They felt on top of the world as they could possibly be. Their bodies moved rhythmically in tune with each other and each of them had that curiously echoing effect of wondering if each were haring their partner approaching orgasm or was it their friends. They each had a sense of gleeful satisfaction, of egging each other on.

When they were finally spent and exhausted, the two couples lay wrapped themselves around each other and they gazed upwards at the snow-white ceiling. It gave off that interesting sense of purity. Their muscles were aching, not least their tongues and necks but they had that dreamy universal feeling of well being in their systems, of being reborn.

"I'm simply starving, Julia," Virginia declared out of nowhere as the one remaining faculty spoke up to be replenished." All that sex has burned off so much energy out of my system."

"Don't worry, darlings," came the lazy reply and an arm vaguely waving in Virginia's direction as Julia lay on her back.

"We have a cold buffet laid out and a celebratory bottle of champagne in the refrigerator,"explained Margaret.

"We'll help each other to our feet, dear. Where did I put my gown?"

"Are we dressing for dinner?" Olivia asked roguishly.

"Why spoil a good thing?" laughed Margaret.

Presently, they sat round the historic long polished oak dining table which had been set out with neatly arranged knives and forks, rolled up white table napkins, best china and cut glasses for the anticipated fizzy Champagne. It was ready for a meal in the old style. The only contrasting feature from the formal dinners of yesteryear were the four barefooted women with flushed faces, innocent of makeup, dishevelled hair and robes, doubtfully restrained by belts. They felt as well fitted to the occasion as they had ever been. The food was every bit as good as was promised, cold sliced beef and salad with all the accoutrements. In a curious reference back to ideas of good form, they didn't fling themselves on the food in an undignified fashion but waited for Julia to give the word. They ate in a slow, leisurely fashion accompanied by sporadic conversation until finally Julia called them to attention.

"Let's drink a toast. Come on, it's the right thing to do,"Julia urged, her face alight with mischief.

"Are one of you going to make a long boring after dinner speech?" Virginia asked in an uncertain tone of voice. That delicious feeling of well being would be dissolved away by the sort of pompous, well meaning words that they'd all endured in their past.

"Good Lord no. This isn't the Lord Mayor's banquet," laughed Olivia exuberantly.

"I'll say it. To the glorious nineteen fifties. God help all who sail in her because we're writing our own version of history- and our future," proclaimed Margaret, hitting the nail on the head as normal.

"To the nineteen fifties," they exclaimed in amused harmony, clinking glasses together while the soft lights glowed down on them and illuminated the red-painted walls.

Still leaning on the easel in the spare room where they had worked and made love, their own portrait stood guard over them all. The freshness and beauty of the shades, colours and contours, nicely brush stroked into place. As the paint finally dried, their painted contours were finally being set into immortality that nothing and no one could deny. This was these four women's ironic dedication.

*******

"So you were you part of this landmark event in lesbian history," said Claire in a slow deliberate awestruck tone of voice. The trained legal part of her mind was a million miles away.

"And you had a celebration dinner in the very room where we had that wonderful soiree. You don't suppose your friends are listening? Nikki asked to Helen's quizzical look. She respected the limitless depths of Nikki's sensitivities but hadn't known her to be possessed by this fey mood. Then again, she herself couldn't swear that she was solidly materialistic in her viewpoint of life.

"I'm sure they are. After all, you are all the future we dreamed of. Aren't I a witness from that period," replied Margaret in her clearest tones. A sudden hush fell on the room. This older friend of theirs was an unbreakable connecting link in just existing.

"Not only that but you sneakily instigated an orgy and to cap it, sent it in postcard form to to Larkhall Prison suggesting the virtuous right thinking Bodybag was the culprit," broke in Helen gleefully as she put two and two together. She had unconsciously borrowed their older friend's manner in switching back and forth between profound seriousness and high-spirited humour. Helen laughed out loud at the memory of her officially confiscating this very erotic picture. Being mentally there at the conception of the picture made her feel honoured and privileged. No wonder Margaret had urged them to be patient. They should have known that this clever woman knew exactly what she was doing.

"You know what I mean, Helen. We did stay faithful to our partners. We always had strict standards of fidelity. Apart from that, I suppose I have always been a real minx."

All four women shook her head in wonder at the way the expression on Margaret's face changed from high seriousness to glinting amusement. This woman's mind worked like lightning. Nikki had never disagreed with their friend but she knew that she would never count on getting the better of her in an argument.

"Stay like that, Margaret. Don't ever change," she said, her voice shaking with emotion and laying her arm on their friend's shoulder.


	35. Chapter 35

Scene Thirty Five

Coope hadn't let the grass grow under her feet after her partner Elaine had told her about the upcoming seminar, "Imprisonment and modernization." As soon as the brochure came off the printing press, she had discreetly steered a fresh copy into John's in tray. As soon he ran his eye over it, his intuitive suspicions were immediately aroused. Scanning the subject material only roused his wrath

"This is an absolute put-up job, Coope," he exclaimed, waving the brochure wildly in the air." It's totally scandalous. One look at this tells me that those crooks plan to rig the meeting so that they get the answers that they want. After all, wasn't there a 'Crime and Punishment' conference not so long ago?"

"I couldn't possibly comment judge,"Coope commented dryly with a knowing smirk on her face as she turned to look at him. It was the way she made sure that he could see the expression on her face that brought up John short. He examined the brochure carefully

"Coope, just how did we get a copy of this brochure? It isn't as if I've done anything to cause Neil Haughton and his cronies in the Home Office to go out of his way to tell us about this Conference. My participation in the 'Crime and Punishment' seminar only gives further reason for my card to well and truly marked."

"You have an advance copy," Coope said with a blank face." I have a close friend who told me about it. She's heard of you and thought you'd be interested in it."

"And how reliable is your friend?"

"I've known her for a long time, since my days in the Army. I'd say I've got as much trust in her as anyone I've ever known."

To John's ears, this friend of Coope was bracketed with the anonymous network of reliable contacts with which she worked her wonders to perform. The fact that she was a long-term friend of Coope meant that she would be exactly as reliable as she said. This gave John confidence as he started to make his plans. He had turned away from Coope and pretended to himself that he would examine the next court file. What he missed was the look of disappointment in Coope's face. He was not to know that when the supreme moment came to proudly declare the existence of her partner, Elaine Porter, she had made a hateful compromise and then compounded it by swathing her in anonymity. She had once made a promise to herself that she would talk about her partner Elaine to the judge and she'd let herself down. Her later attempts to make her special only rang hollow to her. At that moment, she did not feel good about herself.

"I swear that I'll get to that conference by hook or by crook and give them a piece of my mind," John exclaimed, his mind clearly not on his work. To his great surprise, Coope didn't respond with her accustomed advice to be careful. He repeated his promise and at last got a reaction from her.

"Isn't there a danger that they're trying to set you up as being elitist?" Coope observed more sharply than she was used to. She had had more time than John to mull over the matter and found this conundrum easier to deal with than her own feelings.

"Me, elitist?" John exclaimed." I certainly don't pander to what is supposedly popular opinion but that's only what the grubby tabloids say what ordinary people think."

"It's not for me to say, judge," Coope started to say in her accustomed fashion when John cut her short.

"I disagree, Coope. If I'm asking you nicely to speak your mind on this point as I value what you have to say, then how can you refuse me?"

"You are a very courageous and learned man in your own field," Coope told him, looking sharply at him," but you need outside help. I remember you telling me how impressed you were by Helen at that last conference, and Nikki also now that you've got to know them both. We know her better now and also their intelligent friends. You need to consider what they do for a living and what they might know professionally. You never know what you find when you start looking."

John blinked at the sense of certainty behind his PA's very assured words. On the one hand, it made perfect sense and appealed to his inquisitive mind. On the other hand, he remembered Coope once telling him that she'd become involved in their social scene. That wasn't surprising as they were all intelligent, compassionate women who would obviously have a lot in common with each other, just as he had found in talking to Helen and Nikki and also to Margaret. It made him sit up and take notice.

"The first thing I need to do is to make sure that I get to go rather than any other judge. I want my hands on the invitation."

"I'm sure you'll get it, judge. No one else looks for trouble quite as much as you do," Coope replied with a cheery smile, which made John laugh out loud.

*********

"Of course, you are the obvious choice from the brethren to go to the conference," Monty pronounced over a glass of wine in his chambers." We need someone with the tenacity, the sheer bloody-mindedness not to give them an inch."

"What if they refuse my application and insist on someone else instead?" John questioned, his mind already starting to race

"You should know that the brethren don't like being pushed around. They'll lay the blame at Haughton's door. Even the more conservative elements will side with us and will make their views plain. The Home Office will capitulate."

"That's good to know, Monty," John said in heartfelt tones.

"You are planning of course that those very free spirited women, Nikki and Helen will be insinuated into the proceedings," Monty questioned with a twinkle in his eye." You will need allies in this battle."

"The same thought had crossed my mind, Monty. I rather think that with all its paranoia, the Home Office will be utterly unable to trace the links of loyalty that exist between Helen and Nikki and all their various friends," grinned John. As he sipped his glass of wine, his active mind started to plan ahead, pulling in all kinds of ideas and possibilities out of the seeming nowhere. A broad smile started to spread across his face as he wondered if their very remarkable and quick-witted older friend might be willing to join the battle. There were distinct possibilities there.

********

"You know what is expected of you," Neil Haughton said to Sir Percy Thrower, the rather overweight and infinitely malleable Permanent Secretary. Dressed in a blue pin striped suit, he did his best to assume the stern and severe demeanour of his political master but had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn't got that ruthless arrogance. He suppressed that treacherous thought and tried to stiffen his resolve. If he wanted to further his career, he had to.

"So what does chairing this conference involve?" he asked guardedly, "Are there any issues I ought to know about?"

In the rarefied, jargonized world on high, there were no problems as that word had too many negative connotations, of defeatism and too much of a willingness to be deflected from the goal. The word issues had a much more

"The meeting should run like clockwork. It's been thoroughly risk-assessed "Neil Haughton said carelessly.

The other man looked at the politician with wary eyes. He couldn't very well express dissent since Haughton was least willing of any politician to accept it. The man had spent the first part of his life establishing a career in advertising. That meant that he was used to selling products, not least himself, without any hint of reservation. All the time, he had maintained a tangential involvement in politics until the point came in his life when it appeared to be a good career option and better ministered to his ego.

"I hate to admit it but I'm totally new to this sort of thing. You must have come across public meetings. I'd be glad if you gave me a few pointers as to the specifics."

Neil Haughton's cold smile expressed his delight in the deference shown to him and to the ego stroking. He became very expansive and, in doing so, went through the mental checklist that this nervous civil servant had compiled. For someone who had spent his career in the corridors of power, Sir Percy Thrower was worried by the mental image of the hurly burly of the outside world. He could sense potential disorder and chaos in actually throwing himself on the mercies of the mob.

"Of course we've done the preliminary spadework in wording the topics to get the outcome we want. You also have to stamp your authority on the conference with your opening address. We've handed over the organizing of this conference to an up and coming firm, Reliable Conferencing who'll vet the applicants for us. Of course, it might not stop the odd Hampstead intellectual from creeping in but I'm sure you'll be able to handle them. Just remember that if you give an inch and they'll take a mile…………."

Just for a second, a distant look sneaked into the eyes of the politician as he articulated that secret nightmare of those in power. In a second, he snapped out of that passing mood and got back to business.

"You need to tell any troublemakers that what they're saying isn't relevant to the topic in hand. Just keep on repeating that message and you'll steer the conference safely enough After all, the conference isn't for any prima donnas who want to indulge themselves but for the benefit of the silent majority out there in the constituencies, who put their faith in is to uphold law and order. You have to watch out for those in the audience that are sympathetic to our cause and try and ensure that they are called in regularly into the debates without making it obvious what you're doing. If all else fails, you are on the top table with a microphone. That gives you a natural advantage in bringing them up short. Does that make everything clear?"

The other man absorbed Haughton's enthusiasm and drank in his enthusiasm. He was back on message and was convinced of his mission.

*****

"You don't surely think that you're coming to this Conference?" Sir Ian protested as John made an ominous beeline for him. He guessed correctly what he was going to be collared for this time as recent trial cases were pretty run of the mill." You went last time. Surely, some of the brethren will feel only your views are being to be considered and that all judges are as outspoken and cantankerous as you are."

"How do you come to this conclusion, Ian?" John asked in a dangerously quiet tone of voice.

"At the very least, you ought to take it in turn and you shouldn't hog the spotlight," Sir Ian shot back, trying to wriggle out of the trap that John laid for him.

"You know as well as I do, Ian, that Neil Haughton has done a very good job in uniting the brethren- against him," John rejoined." At one time I was regarded as the 'baker's boy. Remember that? They've found out that all my warnings over the last few years have come true and we've come to realize what we have in common with each other. Perhaps they feel that my background makes be better suited to the rough and tumble of public debate."

Sir Ian's face reddened as he realized that John spoke no more than the truth. The wheel had turned full circle and he realized to his chagrin that John's initial social disadvantages were working in his favour. John had him over a barrel and he knew it. He figured out that he would have to activate Plan B instead.


	36. Chapter 36

Scene Thirty-Six

It was on a normal Sunday morning when Rita first knew that the attitude of their neighbours had suddenly changed towards them. She and Elaine had lived in the area for a good number of years and lived quietly. This was a respectable neighbourhood where people kept themselves to themselves. Such social contact that they enjoyed consisted of the occasional conversation while ach was attending to the garden or occasionally in the street. She and Elaine traveled to work on different routes with a good number of them on the Cricklewood train into the center of London where a number of them worked. It wasn't as if they were especially close to any of them. Both of them had taken it for granted that that they needed to fit into the neighbourhood. It was Rita who had first started to question this assumption without having fully worked out where it would lead.

She enjoyed her stroll to the local newsagent to pay for the newspapers that she and Elaine read, drinking in the fresh air. It gave her a sense of well being, of being out in the wide world instead of being cloistered in the rarefied world of the legal system. The newsagent had its usual selection of celebrity magazines, TV guides and tea, coffee and sugar and presented a good opportunity to browse round the shelves. As opposed to her right thinking neighbours who ordered the Daily Mail religiously, their choice wavered between the Independent and the Times as their choice of the window on the world.

Rita moved forward briskly and expected to be greeted by the bright smile, the inconsequential chat about the weather and to pay the bill just like any other occasion. She hadn't expected to be kept waiting for no accountable reason, to face the downcast look and chilly reception.

"That's five pounds thirty," came the muttered surly greeting.

For a second, Rita was overtaken by a sense of unreality that this couldn't be happening until she glanced around her and took in the people that she vaguely knew only studying her with sidelong glances or of being ostentatiously busy. For a second, she was taken aback until something in her took fire. She was expected to make a sheepish exit and to feel diminished and to apologies for being publicly censured. Very unusually for such a diplomatic woman, she responded with a bit of direct action as she dived for the nearest gardening magazine on the shelves.

"I really need to find out where I've been going wrong in looking after my roses. They are looking a bit straggly, don't you think," she called out loudly to nobody in particular." I wonder if this magazine will give me what I want. Of course, I could as easily ask my neighbours. I'm sure they'd help"

She leant against the shelf, continuing to leaf her way through the pages in the magazine of her choice. A slow sense of revelation spread through her system as she saw the weak spot in all these silently censorious people. She sensed from snatched of remembered conversations that they were very good at pronouncing judgment on people, of pontificating, of supposing how people led their lives without putting their views to the ultimate test. What they were no good at was in talking to people, of directly engaging with people and putting themselves on the line. Each one of them was paralyzed on the spot, waiting in vain for someone to say something. Further images swirled out of memories of talking with Margaret, Helen and Nikki and all their friends. All of them without exception looked her in the eye and were compassionate. Rita felt a million miles away from them, while the geographical distance between them was a matter of feet.

"I'll have this magazine if you don't mind. Just add it onto my bill for next week," she called out with infinite satisfaction." Oh yes, I'll buy these tea bags while I'm here."

She quietly forced the woman to grumpily accept her money and turned around. On her way out, she smiled sweetly at everyone and none of them could look her in the eye. Walking back home gave her a peculiar feeling. Either she or the world had been mysteriously transformed but for the life of her, she couldn't work out which was the right one.

"How terrible for you, dear," Elaine exclaimed, concern written all over her face. She had glanced once at Rita when she entered the door and knew it was trouble. She had heard the fair-haired woman tell her brief tale and had gently taken her partner into a soft embrace.

"I suppose it had to happen sometime," she stated in a flat matter of fact tone of voice.

"How do you work that out?" Rita questioned, intrigued at what lay beneath the lines.

"You think about it. Coming home from Chix one night, rather the worse for wear and embracing on the doorstep was bound to start tongues wagging."

"I suppose it did though God knows what perverse dedication there is in peeking through net curtains and keeping us under surveillance."

"The thought of discovery has frightened me all this time until you forced me to confront my fears. Don't forget, you pushed us into this one."

"And now?" Rita asked. The fair-haired woman was highly conscious of performing a ritual dance round her partner in crime. There was one thing she was sure of and that was that neither of them had control over the movements. This dance would spin round in whatever direction in which they were both propelled.

"We're becoming social outcasts round this neighbourhood. We had better accustom ourselves to the reality. Your problem, Rita, was that you hadn't reasoned out the reality of what we were bound to face. It was all theory with you."

"It doesn't stop me rising to the occasion…any more than it stops you," Rita said in her silkiest tone of voice, a broad grin on her face.

"For some reason, the thought of being a social outcast isn't as frightening as I first thought, dear," Elaine said in her most composed tones as she did the proper thing and gently straightened out a curly lock of displaced fair hair. "There isn't as much to fear as I found out."

"So what's changed your mind for you or should I say that you did it yourself," Rita asked with all the delicious certainty of being able to afford to be direct. At that moment, the sun shone brightly into the front living room window and bathed the two women in a golden glow. It matched their heightened feelings of joy.

"Without the friendship of all these charming friends of ours at Chix, I wouldn't have the nerve to be as we are," Elaine said, laying her glasses to one side." They are our neighbours now. All those who live on the same street, well, they're only people we're stuck with."

"Whereas we made our choices,"

"And are we going to stick with the same newsagents?"

"You bet we are. They're going to be the ones who we are going to make feel awkward. We're good paying customers and I don't see why they are going to put us out. We're going to stick it out here," Rita said in determined tones.

*********

John hesitated as he picked up his mobile. He was deeply concerned that in making a business phone call on a sunny Sunday afternoon, that his call might not be well timed, however good the intentions. Finally, he decided to go ahead with it, knowing that if the woman on the other end of the call found it inconvenient, she would say so. Finally, he pressed the necessary buttons and dialed the call.

Nikki was laying back on the recliner giving her back a break from tidying up their back garden while Helen was busying herself with a picnic meal. Her mobile phone lay in the pocket of her jacket, which, in turn, was suspended from the key on the shed door. Most surprisingly on a Sunday afternoon, its demanding tones resonated across the still summer air. Grumbling to herself, Nikki rolled off sideways off the recliner and tottered to her aching feet, if for no other reason to shut the device up. She laughed ironically to herself that while in Larkhall, at least she didn't have this oh so onerous problem.

"The joys of freedom," she muttered to herself, partly self mockingly, knowing how trivial her inconvenience was. It was when she saw John's name flashing that she changed her mind radically. This must be serious business.

"I hope you don't mind me disturbing you on a weekend but I thought it best not to disturb you at work," sounded John's precise tones meekly into her ear.

"Hi, John," Nikki's clear warm voice spoke into his ear to his relief. "It must be serious for you to phone me up like this."

"It isn't something you have to be involved with, you or Helen but I thought you might be interested for old times sake."

"Spill the beans, judge, and we'll be the best judge of what we're interested in," chimed in Nikki. John was not to know that since she was a little girl, Nikki had hated guessing games. Smiling a bit foolishly, John came to the point. In the meantime, Helen came down the short flight of steps to the back garden hand her sharp ears caught the drift of the conversation. And to think, Ms Wade, that you once damned them ass as 'pricks in wigs.'

"All right, Nikki, it's like this. There's to be a public forum coming up in the near future called 'imprisonment and modernization.'"

"Modernization?" echoes Nikki incredulously, picking up on the tone of derision in the judge's voice and on her own suspicions." Has time passed quicker than I thought but didn't you first meet Helen at that 'Crime and Punishment' conference? What can they possibly say now that they didn't say then?"

Helen picked up speed with some nice heel to toe action in carrying the tray as she hastened to be in on this conversation.

"I couldn't have put it any clearer than that. The whole thing is a put up job designed to pull the wool over the eyes of the British public. I'm going to be there anyway."

"Can't they argue that you've had your turn and you should give another judge his turn?" questioned Nikki.

"They've tried that on already and failed miserably," laughed John in his free and easy fashion." Besides, the brethren- my fellow judges- have elected me chief troublemaker, the one destined to lay down hard truths. Two of a kind, you might say."

Nikki laughed in response exposing her row of white teeth and her brilliant smile. The guy was a good listener and the prospect of both of them going into battle appealed to her.

"So where do I come in, I mean Helen and I at this 'Imprisonment and Modernization' conference? It's John on the phone,' explained Nikki to Helen whose face darkened. She had come across this buzzword before.

"My daughter compares me to Spiderman. She thinks I'm all-powerful. Fondly though she thinks of me, I'm realistic enough to consider that one person can only achieve so much. My gut instinct is that they'll use every dirty trick in the book to try and get the results they want."

"And what's that, judge?"

"I'd say they're after justice on the cheap, the Home Office will dictate what judges do and the prisons will be full to the brim in no time at all and the 'hang them and flog them' brigade in the tabloids will be appeased as much as raw meat flung to the sharks ever does so. That's just thinking off the top of my head."

Nikki shuddered at the thought. She knew that the judge wasn't given to dramatics. A surge of anger swept through her system.

"What do you want us to do then?"

"Coope will send you a copy of the brochure and you'll see what I mean. It stinks to high heaven. I know that you have a network of friends. We need to get as many on our side to be there. You look at the brochure and we'll take it from here."

Nikki looked round at the leaves and branches of the trees, the feel of the sunshine and the gentle breeze, the neat borders of the garden, the lovely flat, her circle of interesting friends and most of all, the beauty of her beloved whose presence she silently blessed every day. Life needn't have turned out that way.

"You've overheard me talk to John about this 'Imprisonment and Modernization' conference? John's asking us to help him disrupt it in the nicest possible way," Nikki said with an impish smile on her face.

"I think I'm up for that," Helen said. In her organized fashion, she relished the prospect of this confrontation before mentally consigning it as 'future business.' Right now, she intended to wallow in present pleasures while she could do so."Now let's sit back and enjoy ourselves with a nice Sunday afternoon picnic, just like mother makes."

Nikki lay back on the recliner and drank in the simple pleasure of the moment. Helen was right.

***********

Later on that day, Coope was out in the front garden, pruning the roses and picking out a few weeds with her hoe. An Englishwoman's house is her castle, she vowed, daring the invisible eyes to come out of cover. She was happy as she was as Elaine came out with a refreshing cup of tea.


	37. Chapter 37

Scene Thirty Seven

From that moment onwards, events started to unroll forward with a momentum all of its own, as a gentle surge building up to an irresistible onwards rush to the future.

John was on the phone to Helen the very next day and was expounding enthusiastically on his plans to rope in as many of her friends when Helen stopped him short.

"We need to all be able to talk this over, judge. We simply cannot rely on a series of phone conversations to rally support for coming to this conference. You're talking to the converted in Nikki and I. We're natural troublemakers, willing to go forth to the breach but you can't assume others will see things the same way. You're talking about a conference for a start."

"I don't understand," John said in bewildered tones at Helen's unexpected opposition.

"If you talk to the average woman on the street or man for that matter, just what do conferences convey? It summons up an image of drinking rubbish coffee, sitting in a stuffy hall while speakers drone on and on at length about high faluting stuff that has nothing to say about anyone's life. It's a party political broadcast written large and who voluntarily watches those? You need to understand that friends of mine would rather drift round the shops trying on dresses, gossiping in open air cafes, or dancing our frustrations off at 'Chix'"

"Se do we have a meeting then, Helen?" John said, taken aback by this formidable woman's obvious truths.

"The question is where, judge. I bet you've got the idea of meeting in your chambers."

"I had been thinking of that, as it happens Helen," John confessed frankly. He couldn't for the life of him see where this conversation was heading but suspected that Helen did.

"If you want my outrageous lesbian friends to join us then we should meet at Chix, on home ground."

"Wait a minute, Helen," anxiously protested John." I'm not against the idea but…."

"But what?" Helen retorted with obvious amusement in her voice.

"I'm not against the idea in principle but we need somewhere quiet to talk. I for one am not going to spend the evening yelling over extremely loud club music. Think over the practicalities."

"Nikki and I have thought it over. Trisha and Sally Anne will lend us the VIP room in the club. It's on the floor above the dance floor. There'll be a bit of residual sounds coming through the ceiling but it's ideally designed for this very purpose. We've road tested it and it's ideal. There will be our captive audience that we only have to lure upstairs. Trust me, judge."

To Helen's amusement, there was a long silence on the other end of the phone as Helen had neatly tossed John's practical problems out the window. On a more generous slant, Helen judged that John needed a little time to turn the unexpected idea over in his mind.

"OK, it's a deal. I appreciate the occasion when you and Nikki braved yourselves in calling at the Old Bailey and entering my world. What you suggest is only fair and, as you say, practical. The only question I have is whether or not you've approached Margaret. Somehow, I feel she could be very useful."

.

"You're very insistent on Margaret coming," pursued Helen, sensing the underlying urgency of his suggestion behind his apparently easygoing tones.

"You know and I know that Margaret is a very quick witted woman and is extraordinarily astute. In the art of being dangerous, she has more experience than any of us. At the same time, she looks like a harmless old woman. I also get the feeling that it would be good for her. It's just my intuition at work."

"I'm happy to trust your male intuition. Just don't be late yourself," warned Helen jokingly while secretly impressed by his logic.

"I don't go back on my promise, Helen. You should know that," John answered in mild, easy tones that promised the earth and would deliver. It recalled fond memories of John interceding selflessly on hers and Nikki's behalf to get their chance of freedom.

***********

"Well, sweetheart, it looks as if it's up to us to persuade Margaret to come along to the conference," Helen mechanically stated to Nikki that night as if reading from a script before breaking off, a puzzled note in her voice." Incidentally, just why did the judge tell me that his intuition feels that it would do her good to be there?"

Nikki put her fingers to her forehead in working through the labyrinthine logic that Helen deployed before finding her voice. "You mean, what do I think of it?"

"Yeah, that's what I meant," Helen said, a smirk on her face as she poured two drinks and sprawled full length on the lushly coloured red sofa.

"Well, I suppose, it would give her a purpose in life, no scratch that, because her sense of justice is similar to ours, well just because. I guess the judge is right," Nikki answered as she coiled herself round Helen. Somehow, this was the best thinking she could come up with right now.

"So how are we going to persuade her? If we can't put it into words at our leisure, how

the hell can we do it face to face," she said, feeling her partner safe in her arms.

"The words will find themselves. It all depends if she's angry enough at the way things are," Nikki said gently kissing her lover's neck.

***********

"You mean, go to some stuffy conference and hear all these pompous men lecture us endlessly about how everything's safe in their hands. I don't want to be patted on the head and patronized, to be told that everything's safe in their hands?" exploded Margaret. She couldn't believe what her young friends were telling her.

"That's exactly what we don't mean, Margaret. We know that this is one huge confidence trick, which we intend to bust wide open. I mean the two of us, John and as many friends of ours we can persuade to join us. We want you to come along as well."

Nikki's quiet tones and the correspondingly determined expression on Helen's face clearly impressed the older woman with its soft deliberate sense of purpose. It made sense as far as it went.

"I've never been really political, watching Election Night on television and that sort of thing. Julia and I only bought a television in the nineteen sixties only because we didn't want to feel like complete freaks of nature, well more than we did anyway."

"You've got good values, strong feelings of justice and a sharp eye as to the way we should live. That's political," countered Helen very effectively.

"I'm beginning to sound like Julia's family in saying that the country's going to the dogs," she admitted in wry tones." I never thought I'd see the day when I'd hear myself saying this."

"You're not the traditional 'Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells' but well, like the rest of us. There's an insidious attempt to take away all our freedoms and this makes a nice convenient start with a group of people who always get a bad press."

Margaret ran through her hair in a state of distraction. Everything her two friends were saying resonated with everything she held dear. She pulled a final thought out of the tangle of thought that whirled round inside her head.

"You both mean well and it's very touching that you think so well of me but I've never been to an event like this. It's all outside my experience. I'm no expert on prisons."

"You think they are?" questioned Helen with deadly accuracy." You've been around for a long time. If you come, we'd never dream of leaving you on your own. You don't have to speak if you don't want to but you can if you want to. At least come with us and we'll all get together and talk it over."

"So where are we meeting? That is if I agree to come" Margaret asked at last.

"We've just persuaded John to meet in the VIP room at Chix. I think you'll need to hold his hand, or something and comfort him, as he's very nervous about coming. He will come as he's given his word."

Margaret laughed out loud at the little grin on Nikki's face and Helen's laughter. Suddenly, her mind was made up. The final thought that swayed her was that she had never wanted to miss out on any party. A flood of affection swept through her at her friends' thoughtfulness. She embraced them one at a time and kissed each of them on their cheek.

*********

John really didn't know what to expect. He seriously debated what to wear, one sign of insecurity and at one point opted for his favourite dark blue suit and white shirt before figuring out that this display of formality only heightened his insecurity. Finally realizing that he was taking himself to a realm where he had no robes of office, no wig, no paraphernalia of law, just himself and his quick wits. Tearing off his tie and his jacket, he headed off in his open top sports car, the directions carefully worked out and something to focus his mind on.

As he neared his destination, he reasoned to himself that he'd been to the soiree and made the acquaintance of several charming women at Margaret's house. The only difference was that the venue was going to be slightly different. As he trod the silent street and headed for the prominent 'Chix' sign, his walking pace slackened as doubts started to crowd his mind. It was only after a little while that the sounds of clicking high heels intruded into his consciousness.

"Hiya, judge," the familiar warm Scottish brogue burst into his consciousness so welcomingly. "I'm glad you made it."

"Thank goodness, you're here," he heard himself saying in unashamedly gratified tones, taking in Helen's swirling low cut dress, her glossy look and Nikki's very attractive white suit. Margaret appeared out of the corner of his eye, wearing flowing robes and a flamboyant patterned silk scarf, looking curiously like an excited child.

"It's my first time too, judge. At least at this club," she explained.

Helen led the way and waved them through admission and John's senses were immediately assaulted by a blast of some of the cheaply seductive sounds that his daughter Charlie played him in the days when he chauffeured her around. He smiled slightly to himself that this time, he was technically clubbing, not her.

It took John a little while for John to get used to the gloom, which was fitfully lit by flashing coloured lights. It was for this reason that John didn't immediately recognize the comfortable looking middle-aged woman in a white suit on the arm of another woman wearing a green dress. The sudden smile on her face seemed to indicate that she knew him though John was mystified.

"Don't you recognize me, judge?" called out a familiar voice from an utterly unfamiliar context. To John, it felt as if he were walking down a country lane and he was suddenly overtaken by a red London double decker bus. He knew what it was but the unexpected context took him by surprise.

"Why Coope. Fancy seeing you here," exclaimed John, the first words coming to his lips straight off the top of his head. It was the look of total surprise on the judge's face and the fact that he was on her home ground that caused Rita to seize the moment with her courage. The moment would never come again like this.

"I'm Rita here, judge. Allow me to introduce you to my partner Elaine. We've been together years and she's heard such a lot about you."

John laughed easily in friendly tones, mostly at himself. That moment broke the ice.

"Why don't the two of you know each other?" Nikki called out mischievously and John laughed again. At that moment, he was conscious of all the others in the club. They didn't know who the hell this guy was but he gave out good vibrations as did the flamboyantly dressed older woman, whose eyes gleamed with fascination of what lay before her. They were in the mood to let everything flow, which felt good. This was freedom, personified.

"While you talk to each other," mouthed Nikki into his ear just above the music and gesturing to Rita and Elaine," Trisha and Sally Anne are rounding up some likely accomplices to our schemes. For your act of courage in coming here, we'll buy the drinks so what are you having."

"Since I'm driving, an orange juice," John replied quickly. At least he could handle this one.


	38. Chapter 38

Scene Thirty Eight

"Well, Coope," John suddenly started to say in an obviously embarrassed fashion once Coope had casually dropped her bombshell on him. They had been casually chatting about families and she decided that she would stop being this person with an elusive functionary with a non-existent private life. In for a penny, in for a pound she thought as she made her relationship with a suddenly existing Elaine. It achieved the very unusual result in John being stuck for words. " I didn't know that you are a ……"

"Does it matter," Coope interjected." Nothing's changed. I'll continue to be as devoted to you, professionally speaking as I've ever been. The only thing you've not known about me is that my partner is female."

"So what about the soiree ……" John started to say when Coope again interrupted. Normally, such bad manners would have annoyed him extremely but, deep down, he knew that she was covering for his extreme embarrassment. Most unusually, he could feel his face colouring a very pretty shade of pink and that was an embarrassment to a suave, debonair man of the world.

"One reason is that Elaine wasn't out of the closet then. The other reason was that you obviously needed my support to go to the soiree."

"So how come I've never suspected a thing in all these years?" John asked, his face a picture of total bewilderment as he struggled to get his head round the situation.

"It's not as if I'm wearing a big 'L' sign. I mean you tell me what a typical lesbian looks like," Coope retorted, a definite smirk all over her face." It does mean of course that I am in a minority and, as a free citizen and I should be exempt from anyone trampling over my rights."

"Of course, of course," John said rapidly, his mind assaulted by a cacophony of ideas, most of them being his own coming back to haunt him. He was also haunted by the way that his normal relationship with Coope was being twisted out of shape now that they were outside work but he had to credit this very sharp woman with justice on her side.

"Judge, just take it easy," Coope replied, finally taking pity on the poor man after all her relentless teasing." I've not changed in any way. It's just that you've found out more about my private life than you knew before. At least you know what my friends are like."

"So if we are invited to go to another soiree, you'll be able to bring Elaine along as well now that we've all been introduced," John finally said, after taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts into some kind of logical order. The mention of their charming friends was the vital lifeline which he clung to. He had been forced to go through a very steep learning curve and he would be ashamed if he failed the test. He finally grasped at the minor fact that was nearest to hand. The rest would follow later.

"Exactly," Coope replied, smiled broadly (or was it Rita) to the way John finally worked his way through the conundrum and he showed him." If you don't mind me saying, I think you're wanted."

"It's nice to meet you both," John heard himself saying as he spotted Helen's beckoning finger calling him over. Elaine smiled in return as this brief conversation confirmed everything that Rita had ever said about the man. The dark-haired woman sympathized with the judge's distracted manner while he briefly engaged with her. She could understood his extreme confusion especially as Rita was being such a tease.

Confused visions of slinky women swaying to the music and embracing each other invaded John's senses as he trailed after Helen and the others. They made their way upstairs to the doors with curved polished metal handles that swung back noiselessly, admitting them to a circle of comfortable armchairs and a drinks tray in the middle. This pleased John's dormant democratic impulses as he definitely wasn't in the mood to order anyone about. By contrast, the women felt and looked supremely comfortable and glowingly self assured with that heightened feeling that something important was due to happen.

"I think that we've all met before," Trisha said with a pleasant welcoming smile on her face after everyone had sat down. To John's great surprise, he suddenly realized that he could put a name to the elegantly dressed ladies sitting round in a circle. Everyone had been to the soiree at Margaret's house and his memory enabled him to recall fragments of conversation. This eased him away from his slight nervousness at finding himself closeted with these strong women. His experience from public school onwards had been of male discussions and deliberations and he hoped he would be up to this transition." I'm not into committees or management meetings as I've sat through enough of them when I used to work in a bank. I know that Nikki and Helen shanghaied me and others here but it might help if John says a few words of introduction."

John resisted the temptation to self-aggrandizement to stand up and speak. Instead, he talked in a conversational manner and relied on his strength of convictions. All sorts of ideas were buzzing round in his head, which formulated themselves into carefully chosen words as he felt his way intuitively along. Somehow, he felt perfectly free to step forward.

"If you read between the lines of this programme, this is an abject surrender to the 'hang them and flog them' tabloid brigade, to be tough on crime. This obviously means filling up the prisons to bursting point because judges will be forced to operate by mandatory sentencing, the rules which the Home Office will set. Their idea of 'keeping the streets safe' means that freedoms will go by the board. The appeals procedure is obviously an impediment and an obstruction. Above all, it attempts to co-opt us all to the script, which the Home office has worked out in advance. This will marginalize, repress, and shut up dissent and reasoned objection to their ideas. There's even the possibility of juryless trials…"

"No judge," Helen and Nikki exclaimed together, their faces white with shock."You can't be serious."

"I fear I am. I wish I weren't. It fits in with the prevailing strand of authoritarianism in this administration and I commend to you its prime example, Neil Haughton, Home Secretary. I make no secret in loathing the man's guts. That doesn't blind me into personalizing my opposition. He's only the most obvious symptom of an attempt to put this country back into an emotional and political straitjacket. I'm old fashioned to believe that freedom is indivisible and that if one group in society is oppressed, its only a matter of time before they come for the rest of us. Don't doubt for a moment that anyone's hard won rights can be taken away if we let it, no matter who you are I'm a child of the sixties and I know where my roots are."

All the women emotionally felt the sentiments expressed. John's quiet words hinted of a potential threat to their rights as well, phrased in their language. Nevertheless, they needed to fully flesh out the picture that John's first decisive pencil strokes had shaped. It was Helen who now stepped up to the mark.

"Do they know that you're going to this Conference?" she interjected sharply.

"They know all right. My fellow judges are solidly behind me. I had a stand up row with Sir Ian and they can't stop me going. That means that my card is marked and they will be out to get me. Also, Helen and I helped make sure that the 'Crime and Punishment' conference went spectacularly wrong from their point of view. The point is that I'm not Superman. I know my way round the judiciary but I know that I'm far too cloistered and there's a whole related world outside that I'm not so sure about. Thanks to conversations with Nikki and Helen I've made a bit of a start to remedy my ignorance but that's nowhere near enough. We need to be sure that whatever move they make, we can counter them. This is where the rest of you may help. I understand that you are all 'out and proud' lesbians with your own life experiences and I assure you that the task in hand will demand that all of us be 'outer and prouder' in who we are than we have ever been before. I mean that, if you agree, we will be the worst troublemakers than even I know how to be"

John paused for breath as he let every word sink in of his call to insurrection, which jolted through every woman's nervous system and grabbed both their attention and interest. This guy came over as for real. The faint rhythmic sounds of the dance music had faded away in their consciousness.

"We all know each other to varying degrees but the one thing we never do when we're down here or at Margaret's gatherings is talk about our day jobs. Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves. I'll take the first turn," Helen pronounced tentatively. The ripple of sound round the circle was answer enough.

"All right," smiled Helen smiling broadly." I work for the Criminal Cases Review Commission. This is an independent public body set up to investigate possible miscarriages of justice in England, Wales and Northern Ireland. The Commission assesses whether convictions or sentences should be referred to a court of appeal. I make no bones that it is currently clogged up with applications, no disrespect to the judge here. I have a direct vested interest in this conference. As you probably know, I used to work in Larkhall Prison as wing governor."

"Me next," Nikki said in easy tones, feeling comfortable in this very supportive gathering." As you all know, I did three years in Larkhall for taking out the very corrupt copper who would have raped Trisha. I currently work for the Howard League of Penal Reform so my work parallels Helen's."

"I'm a solicitor. I handle a variety of work from house conveyancing to criminal cases. I do the legwork in interviewing clients and dig out the fact for barristers to present. I get to see a wide range of clients in different situations. For example, I first knew Nikki when I interviewed her at Larkhall Prison to frame her appeal. I found out that DC Gossard had a record of physically and mentally abusing his wife. It certainly doesn't predispose me into thinking that life is black and white as this programme suggests," Claire pronounced in comfortable tones. She consciously threw down her marker pitched deliberately distinct from her friends' and earned an appreciative smile from John.

"I'm a probation officer," Jenny's warm North Country accent articulated with considerable force." I deal with the job no one wants to talk about. My job is partly to to investigate an offender's personal and criminal history for the court prior to sentencing where the judge directs. I also supervise those convicted of offences that don't earn a custodial sentence and those released after their prison sentence. Quite frankly, my job can be an uphill struggle as I have as much reason as anyone to dislike the 'hang them and flog them' brigade.

"Looks like it's my turn. I'm really not sure what I can contribute to this conference. I came along as Nikki twisted my arm but I'm certainly interested in this in an abstract way. Let me see, I'm someone who came bloody close to being raped but apart from that, I worked in a bank and I run this club with Sally Anne so where does that take me…….."

Trisha said diffidently, her voice trailing away into silence.

"Darling, you underrate yourself," Nikki replied very compassionately." You and Sally run a club where lesbians of all walks of life come to dance and drink with only a few of you to run the place, barmaids and so forth. What's there to stop drunken violence kicking off?"

Trisha blinked at Nikki's astute question, which she knew was backed up by nine years of practical experience. She couldn't think of an answer and grasped desperately at straws.

"Well, you were always a tough one and Sally being an ex-policewoman helps."

"That's only the icing on the cake. The point I'm driving at is that this is a community and there are unspoken rules. There are a lot of us who have been coming here for a long time and we set the standards that newcomers pick up on. Women do get a bit legless from time to time but someone or other ensures that they're put into a taxi and we only deal with reliable firms so that the drivers can be relied on not to try anything on. The supreme irony is that the one violent incident that ever took place was the one occasion when you were working the club on your own and there was the representative of law and order. In other words, that bastard Gossard with his twisted ideas about lesbians and tried to force himself on you. I would never dreamed of sticking a broken bottle into his neck if he hadn't been doing that. All this goes to show that these idiots organizing this conference are a million miles away from what society needs. If they had had their way, I'd still be rotting alive in Larkhall. Of course you have a lot to contribute, Trisha. It's right under your very nose."

Nikki's passionate tones made Trisha turn white with the shock of realization. Of course her old friend was right. The effect rippled around the room and gave the meeting emotional focus and direction.

"Well, Trisha and Nikki have done half my work for me. This is partly where I fit in with running Chix with Trisha," Sally explained in a relaxed manner. She had been worrying about just where she could contribute, as what she felt most strongly about didn't fit into this conference. Now she found her way forward.

"You'll probably know that I was a policewoman for a number of years. I feel most strongly about the sexist attitudes amongst my one-time colleagues and the way they covered up for Gossard when he raped me and drove me out of the police force. I didn't see how that fitted into the grand scheme of things but now I see that if the police don't clean up its act, how can it be trusted to investigate crime properly?"

John broke into spontaneous applause, delighted to be enlightened by fresh insightful thinking. He was joined by the others while Rita looked on fondly at the judge, delighted to see him so obviously at home. Presently, it was his turn to introduce himself.

"I won't take up valuable time. As a High Court Judge. I am bound by legal precedents, which create both definitions and sets out different situations. My brethren and I are alternately pilloried by liberal pressure groups for being either too hard or castigated by the voluble right wing tabloid press, aided and abetted by murky forces within the establishment, for being too soft. My great concern is the root of the problem, the erosion of separation of powers between the executive, the legislature and the judiciary. I am utterly opposed to the real danger of an insidious slide into a political and cultural dictatorship."

As the introductions went on, Margaret began to feel more and more nervous. All these incisive observations and the breadth and depth of their knowledge made her feel that she had led a very sheltered existence. She was sitting next to Helen and was initially relieved when the revolving circle of self-revelation passed away from her. Now it had come round full circle and she was really stuck for what to say. Suddenly she had the curious sensation that it wasn't really Helen's hand that clasped itself in hers but Julia. She almost heard her voice speaking to her.

"I really didn't know what place I had in this gathering but I was listening to what the judge talk about a slide into conservatism. I went through all that in the fifties when it horrified me that all it took for someone to press the button of tradition and everyone jumped into line. You didn't need any secret police then. I've spent a lifetime fighting against restriction that I don't want it happening again. I don't think they can do it but I'm not taking any chances. It got to the point that Julia and I had to travel abroad as otherwise we would have emotionally suffocated. There might be those who hark back to the 'good old days' but I tell you that is a lie. This is where I come in plus anywhere else I can contribute."

"You will be just fine for that, Margaret," Nikki said, her eyes swimming with emotion." You have another advantage going for you. Helen and I might look dangerous but you look so innocent and harmless. They'll never know what will hit them if you get going."

"You have such imposing titles to qualify you to attend this conference." Margaret replied, her spirits buoyed by the kindness she felt from Nikki's words and everyone else's thoughts. She grinned as a mischievous thought struck her." I suppose I'll be the token Old Age Pensioner. There now, what could sound more respectable and innocent than that?"

Everyone exploded with laughter at the delicious irony of Margaret's suggestion. She had never retired from anything in her life. This last contribution capped the meeting impeccably and everyone was overflowing with generous emotion. They were truly brought together and revealed to each other. Helen found herself almost cursed with this capacity for forever thinking forward and one idea popped into her mind, which had to be articulated.

"You know, judge, there's one question that bothers me and that is the organization of this conference. Are they going to have an introductory session to set the agenda, break us up into groups to investigate each topic- of course with a Home Office steer- and bring us back at the end with the conclusion they want? In other words, we wouldn't be up against one chairman but several and we would need to cover all groups. Then again, how early do we show our hand?"

"I hadn't thought of that Helen," John confessed, totally taken by surprise." We have to wait for the programme to become public and how to apply to attend. No doubt Elaine will keep us posted via Coope for this and also on the logistics of the organisation. Other than that, we know where we stand. The beauty of our situation is that there is no earthly way that the apparatchiks will get to know of the links between us. That and the strength between us give us hope."

There is was, the heart of the matter. Despite John's modesty of manner, his audience were given a slot of adrenaline and confidence boost by the blessing he bestowed on their organization's very existence, on Nikki's and Trisha's original vision. This was praise indeed. It was only when they glided down from this feeling of bliss that the assembly became aware of the sounds of dance music insinuating itself into their thoughts. It struck them that the warmth of these sounds had somehow also played a part for good. A chilly bare functional room wouldn't have sparked such soul baring.

"I'll get in the next round of drinks. They're on the club. After that, well, I've a club to run," Trisha volunteered with understated generosity.

"Thank you Trisha and Sally. I'm glad my mental horizons were expanded at being forced to come down here," John said sincerely, his blue eyes twinkling at the innocent looking Helen.


	39. Chapter 39

Scene Thirty Nine

The morning after the meeting at Chix saw the sunbeams shining in on Margaret's pillow. She blinked her eyes open and it took her a long time to wake up after the strenuous activity of the previous day. She felt bone weary and drained and lay there in a trance. It was only when she had her cup of tea that images of the previous evening came back to haunt her.

She had dressed for the occasion in a state of keyed up excitement, both for the prospect of seeing at last what a modern lesbian club looked like. It had more than met her expectations. On the one hand she had felt initially resistant to the alien music rhythms, her jaw had dropped open at the sight of so many attractive women dressed in body revealing outfits dancing with each other. That had resurrected memories and feelings within her that she thought had become dormant with age. As she had looked around her, she gradually found that the pulse of life started to make sense to her. As a glass of wine had been placed into her hand, Margaret had looked around and seen the gently caring expression on Nikki's face. She had known that her friend knew exactly what wine she liked and had chatted animatedly to everyone in sight.

"Do you like the club, Margaret?" Helen had asked her, a broad smile on her face.

"It's a long way from the places and social occasions Julia and I went to, both here and abroad," Margaret said cryptically." As you might guess, I find the music takes a lot of getting used to but, yes, everything makes absolute sense. You and your friends are really lucky to have a place like this to go to. I'm really happy to be here."

Yes, she really had thought that and she wasn't lying to herself. To do that would be to break her lifelong principles

She remembered how she had trotted up the staircase, buoyed up with so much energy at the delicious thought of being around while treason and resistance was being debated. It was only when she got there that the sinking feeling had spread through her at how little she knew of the world. All her life, she had trusted to her instincts to lead her but she hadn't exerted the hard serious application of thought to come out with the learned perspectives that the others had deployed. It wasn't until it came to her turn when words came off the top of her head. She had been really touched by the way her friends had greeted her contribution and it had made her feel rightfully important.

Now the cold light of dawn had dawned, she was starting to have second thoughts. As she finished drinking her cup of tea, everything from her past stared back at her, the painting on the wall, all the accumulated bric a brac from hers and Julia's travels. It felt so comfortable and relaxing to sink back into that suspended, dreaming state of half-life that she had lived in. In that world, everything had been accomplished and achieved.

It crossed her mind how much she loved talking to her young friends of her past. Everything felt so real, so vivid. A thousand feelings and images could be so easily conjured up and she so warmly appreciated their intense absorption and interest in those days and sensed that her old friends were with her. She could float on that endless river forever. If only life could always be like this.

It was only when she thought about her friends that the patterns of thought started to shift. It crossed her mind that she had come alive in these last weeks when her friends had adopted her. Her mind was as sharp and agile as it had ever been. It was clear that her friends respected the woman of here and now as well as what she had been and done in her life. She breathed in and out more distinctly as the icy edge of challenge pressed her for answers. There it came at last, she mouthed to herself. She had to admit it that her reluctance to get involved in this conference was that she was simply afraid of biting off more than she could chew.

"Buck up, darling," she heard that faint drawling voice from all the crevices of this mansion she had inhabited for so long." You are in safe hands. You know what you should do."

That did the trick. She finally made up her mind and reached for her phone.

_*********_

Unknown to Margaret, Helen and Nikki were going through the same soul searching. Both women were unusually silent as they whipped quickly through their normal housework that their too short weekends necessitated. It also temporarily buffered them from having to confront their second thought.

"Look here Helen," Nikki said with a touch of determined impatience." Just put down that duster for a moment. We have to talk."

"What about?" Helen said defensively.

"It's about this Conference. I just want us to ask ourselves just why we have to be Joan of Arc when we could take life easy."

"We made a promise. We can hardly get out of our obligations having pushed everyone else into it," retorted Helen in tones of rising anger.

"That's not good enough and you know it," Nikki pressed back insistently." Look, all I'm doing is asking ourselves just why we're doing all this."

"I can think of one good reason right away. If you remember, I met John at that 'crime and Punishment' seminar where both of us spoke out against the crap that was being spewed out. If we hadn't done so, the conference could have taken quite a different course. I know very well from experience that they'll have another crack at it. At the after conference drinks session he made it quite clear that he wanted to seduce me. I'm sure he's done it before with other women at previous conferences. I made it abundantly plain that it wasn't going to happen and why. When I unloaded all our troubles on him, he threw his plans out the window and backed us up without any thought of payback. I've had enormous faith in John for the way he reined in his desires and started talking justice and delivering on it. We cannot not be there, sweetheart."

Helen's impassioned words had their effect on Nikki. She hadn't quite spelt out the details of that evening to Nikki and, as a passionate woman, she had to take her hat off to the guy. She also respected her lover's description of the conference and that hardened her own sense of resolve.

"You've reasoned me into this, darling. There's something I want to get off my chest to explain just why I end up being spokeswoman at Larkhall. I used to ask myself the question, why me? Do I really have to lead the way to the barricades? Couldn't someone else do it? Am I that megalomaniac that I think I'm Superwoman? Suppose this time I fail? Suppose I throw away everything I've ever struggled for in one moment of recklessness? I keep coming back to the answer that it may as well be me as anyone else. It's what I'm good at and so are you, babes. It's probably not the most fortunate example to recall but do you remember the protest over Carol Byatt's miscarriage?"

"Don't I just," grimaced Helen." The worst part of it all is that everything you said right out in the open was what I strongly suspected of Bodybag- yes, I'm calling her that- that bloody woman who fouls everything up for everyone. Through some misguided sense of duty, I felt I had to defend those backstabbing bastards."

Helen's trenchant reply made Nikki grin sympathetically at Helen's plight. She let her in to a bit more backstory she hadn't got around to telling Helen.

"It could have been worse. I came bloody close to doing the same over Femi only I talked the others into relying on your intervention much against my instincts. That really could have sparked off a real riot." Nikki said tersely.

"You never told me that, Nikki," Helen retorted with a shade of aggression in her voice.

"Yeah, well, now you know then deal with it…..sorry Helen, what with one thing and another, I forgot. Even Superwoman has her off days, like she forgets to get the milk from the shop."

Helen looked at her lover, a warm glow of endearment spreading through her system. Nikki had bitten back her inclination to retaliate in kind and had deployed her quirky offbeat sense of humour. It was one of the many sides of her personality that made her totally lovable to Helen.

"Of course, I understand. Come here, sweetheart," Helen said in most melting tones as the two women reached out for each other.

It was in their most relaxed tender moments that the phone rang. Reluctantly, Helen reached for the phone. To her surprise, it was Margaret. Helen immediately acceded to the sense of urgency in their friend's voice to talk over the plans for the conference.

"Do you want us to fetch you, Margaret? It will only take a minute."

"Not this time, Helen. I'm setting off in my car and don't you try and stop me."

Helen shut up. She hadn't known her friend to go across London this way but intuitively felt the reason for that sense of determination.

Margaret steeled herself to get herself into her pale blue old-fashioned Morris Minor. It had been a comedown from the Bentley she and Julia had driven but as they got older, they had got more nervous in driving such a bulky car around the increasingly deadly London traffic. Sitting bolt upright in her car, she carefully adjusted the wing mirrors and slipped the key into the ignition. Slightly wobbling her way out of the drive, she felt again the same familiar sensations as they came back to her. She wasn't going to chance it and smoke and drive at the same time but was absolutely determined to thread her way through the merciful absence of rush hour traffic. To her delight, she swung her car into the familiar road and, slightly sweating, drew the car to a halt and lay back, exhausted in the seat. It was just as well that the doctor had let her renew her driving licence every three years from her seventieth birthday.

*********

"Well, that was an experience," exclaimed Margaret brightly as she tottered slightly in making her way into the living room before sinking gratefully into the familiar armchair. Nikki brought through the tea tray and served their friend a welcome cup of tea.

"You don't need to explain why you drove over here. We know already. It's the case of women doing it for themselves," Nikki said laconically as she smiled in admiration at the sheer nerve of their friend.

"If my niece ever saw me drive, she'd have a fit," Margaret said silently acknowledging Nikki's graciousness and amazed by her display of recklessness.

"We're not Bodybag. We're your friends," Helen said shortly.

"You're right. Thank you both, darlings," Margaret said effusively and sat there visibly glowing at her sense of present achievement. She looked at her friends directly and what was on her mind poured out in a stream of words.

"The reason I wanted to come over so desperately to talk to you was to talk to you about this conference. I might have been a bit tipsy and carried away with myself when I volunteered to take part. This morning I had second thoughts about it. I got seriously worried "

"So were we," chorussed Helen and Nikki in unison.

"You were? I can't believe it. You both look so young, strong and fearless," came the amazed reply.

"Margaret, the only difference between you and us is that you've got more miles on the clock, so to speak. All the time we've known you, we've felt a tremendous sense of kinship with you. I'm deadly serious about this."

"I'll tell you both something." Margaret replied, utterly convinced by Helen's heartfelt emotional honesty. "Next to me, John is the oldest of our band of friends and I remember him saying that last night he's a child of the sixties," Margaret continued with growing intensity." I go back further than he does and I know how emotionally straitjacketed life was in the fifties. I'm coming to this conference to stop us going through all that again. It could easily happen. Do you want to know what happened?"

"You know that we love hearing about your life," Nikki said affectionately.

"I've spent a lot of time telling my old stories. Sometimes I feel I'm being self indulgent, that all I've done is to make a few gestures……." Margaret answered, her voice tailing off as her lips trembled and tears came from her eyes.

"No you're not Margaret," Helen replied passionately, hugging her older friend passionately." My mother died when I was little. Nikki's parents disowned her when she was sixteen and was an 'out' lesbian. What you've done really matters as you've stuck to your vision for the long haul as Nikki and I hope to do."

"Helen's right." Nikki said in slow deliberate tones, laying her hand on their friend's shoulder." If we don't hear from you as living breathing history, who the hell will tell us? Orthodox history books are mainstream and write us out of history. We all know that. Even the best books will only tell you so much. Everything you've told us matters to us more than even you can possibly know. You must tell us everything that happened in your life. Please, Margaret."

The pleading look in their friend's eyes finally centred the older woman. She now realized how the weight of history hung on her shoulders and no one else, she started to tell another tale.


	40. Chapter 40

Scene FortyIll changes were waiting in the wings from the moment that Julia and Margaret set off to town in their very stylish new grey Bentley. Margaret thoroughly enjoyed settling down into the nicely padded driving seat, and the irony of being in control of this solid monument to British respectability. This was a step up from their Austin 7 they had known and loved but they had come up in the world since they had inherited Julia's family estate. They were the joint chatelaines of the family mansion and all that was needed in the year nineteen fifty-eight was to sort out one minor irregularity that had bothered them for some time. "Ready darling? You know it's very good of me to let you drive the family car," joked Julia as she inserted a cigarette in her favourite holder and lit up. "You know I can handle it. We can handle anything," Margaret declared with great aplomb as she manoeuvred the car onto the side street that was shaded by leafy trees.

"Besides, you shouldn't smoke and drive."

Julia laughed indulgently as she reclined back elegantly in the passenger seat. Her partner's loose fitting patterned dress flowed over the driving seat as she sat up, out and proud, wearing her favourite scarf and her summery straw hat shaded her eyes.

As soon as they had left behind the secluded suburbs, they came across the modern world with a vengeance as they hit the growing paralysis of London traffic system, jam-packed tight. Only a sequence of traffic lights and small roundabouts had attempted to stretch the limits of what the time honoured roadmap could accommodate. As they edged their way down the street, both women couldn't help reflecting that the world was becoming a brasher, noisier place than they were used to. The presence of garish advertising hoardings depressed Julia's spirits as the London she had known was starting to change and not for the better. Suddenly, the roaring blast of a motorcycle engine shattered the regular drone of the restrained but tightly tensed British good manners as it raced past on the outside of the stream of cars. Margaret caught a glimpse of the youth driving it, wearing a leather jacket and greasy blond hair. It cut ahead of the black, square sided Ford Popular whose orange indicator stood out sideways still vainly trying to get past the car in front. This futile expectation did her temper no good.

"Bloody ill-mannered road hog," Margaret fumed loudly to herself

"Darling, Virginia used to race around on that Triumph of hers. Please don't get prematurely middle aged and conservative. I couldn't bear it," Julia insisted, knowing she was issuing a timely warning.

Margaret made no answer as she eased the car into first gear and let the powerful engine take their bulky car up to all of fifteen miles per hour, or so her speed dial informed her. To her relief, they just crossed over the traffic lights only to be trapped in yet another jam.

"It's not that, Julia. I don't like anyone arrogantly pushing in, young or old," Margaret explained at last, as they drove past a very imposing red brick building on their right. To her regular surprise, it was St Pancras mainline station where she had arrived all those years ago.

They were twenty minutes late for their appointment, when they finally turned off into a secluded Georgian side street to see their family solicitor. Margaret parked their car in the comfortable space left to them. It was just as well as she knew that the old Austin 7 was invaluable in parking on a sixpence. As she locked up the car, she noticed some workmen who were busy installing a strange vertical metal tube, one in a series. The freshly smoothed tarmac imperfectly matched the rest of the pavement.

"Excuse me but what are these strange contraptions you're putting up?"

"These here are parking meters."

"Parking what?" Margaret echoed in uncomprehending tones. Why on earth was anyone interested in measuring them parking their car? She had thought that since rationing was over, everyone would be free to live their lives. After all, wasn't that what the last war was all about?

"When we've got these fixed up, you'll be charged by the hour how long you park. We'll start fitting the heads on when this is done. That houses the ticking clock and the slot for the coin. It will be a two bob coin for every hour you park. Nothing too expensive, you know."

"But that's legalised robbery," expostulated Margaret, angry at the thought of measuring out her visits in two shilling pieces.

"Rules is rules, begging your pardon. No good getting angry with me. I'm only doing my job, see." came the apparently conciliatory reply. Margaret was on the point of taking the argument further as she glared at the man only her companion pulled at her sleeve and reminded them that they were already late for their appointment.

*********

"Your case has been reallocated to our most senior solicitor," explained the receptionist to them as the two slightly dishevelled women clattered their way into the foyer. The severely dressed woman wore thick horn rimmed spectacles while her hair was carefully shaped and piled up on top of her head. She was regarded as the decorative servant for the practice and, above all, to know her place amongst the ranks of vain and status obsessed men, forever competing in the pecking order. All the solicitors in the practice were in the mid forties age group, except for one solicitor, one Michael Freeman who was their age and the solitary and isolated exception to the rule.

Immediately, the very smug, unctuous solicitor struck the wrong note, ruffling the two women's nerves from the moment he started speaking. In his preliminary introductions, he held forth about the depth and degree of his knowledge as h spoke in slow, ponderous tones. They felt that he was treating them as simpletons until he finally got to the point. Worse still, he positioned himself so that he faced Julia and hardly acknowledged Margaret's presence. The dark-haired woman held back her simmering anger for the moment.

"You were very lucky to be left the family house, Miss Desmond. It isn't so long ago that a woman couldn't inherit property. As you should know, it isn't every family that would leave property to a woman, much less an ..unconventional woman like yourself. You must know as well as I do that old habits and standards die hard, especially in your position in society. Not everyone is 'with it' as they say these days."

"It's my family you're talking about. I think I can talk about my family better than you can," retorted Julia sarcastically." After all, I grew up in it."

"There, I beg to disagree. My firm have had a long history of dealings with your family. Mine goes back to before the war. This gives me the advantage. You must admit the world of business is the exclusive preserve of men of the world. It isn't the sort of thinking that women are temperamentally suited to. Writing romantic fiction and tending gardens, yes. The world of politics, law and business, quite frankly no,"

"George Eliot was a writer," Margaret retorted, cutting into the conversation.

"You thereby make my point," the man said expansively, spreading his hands, walking headlong into the trap laid for him.

"George Eliot was a woman. This was because in Victorian times, she had to adopt a male pseudonym in order get her serious novels published."

"I don't see what you're getting at or what your problem is. After all, you've been granted the vote," he said, looking away from Margaret. The man really doesn't understand, fumed the two women while Margaret patiently explained her case.

"We fought to be recognised as serious writers and to get the right to vote. Nothing was ever handed to us on a plate so why shouldn't we get other rights? We are the invaders," came her deliberately provocative reply as she fought to engage this man's eye contact.

"You've got all the rights you need. Anyway, be this as it may, I categorically assure you that you have not the power to gift any or part of your family home to your…friend."

"Margaret is my lover," Julia said in choked tones." Try talking to her as much as to me. She is half of my life and I am half of hers. We would be married if it weren't for the antique laws of the country."

"God forbid that that ever happens," came the heavy incredulous sneer in reply. If it weren't for the fact that Julia was wealthy and he had some peculiar concept of serving the family, these two shameless women would be told to leave and would never darken the doors of the practice he'd faithfully served these many years." After all the disruption and chaos of war, I for one am glad to see this country's return to traditional values, to God, the British Empire, the Monarchy and traditional family values."

"I didn't come here for a lecture. I've engaged you to alter the deeds to put our house into our joint names. There's no earthly reason for you to object. We can hold our heads up high."

"That may be but I can assure you that what you want, however much you wish it, is completely impossible. It can't be done. If you still disagree, then there are all my law books behind me. You can search them if you want," the man said in smug tones, gesturing to the buttressed line of faded red hardback books behind the glass case.

"You're making it all up," Margaret shot back, shaking with anger inside. How dare this pompous man try and dirty their love with his hateful values. The worst of it was that this man stood implacably in the way and they knew no one in the legal field who could contradict what this man was saying. They both had a sneaking feeling that he might be telling the truth, no matter how much he relished it. Even if he was lying, how could they find this out? "You can't get away from the fact that Julia and I are together."

"You? You have no legal standing in the family house. That's your problem and there's no way out."

Julia and Margaret turned white hot inside with blazing anger. Both felt like smacking this man round the face and see how he liked it. Julia just about had the presence of mind to press her lover's hand to urge caution. Exchanging glances, they promptly got up from their chairs and stalked out of the interview room. It was then that Michael Freeman caught sight of them on their way out. As he told them much later, the anguished look on their faces immediately won his sympathy and this was the beginning of the circuitous process by which he made their acquaintance and finally friendship….

********

Julia had commandeered the wheel, as she needed something to occupy her hands and feet with. Their thought was to hunt up Virginia and Olivia at their studio. They craved the prospect of good time company from their friends. They clattered up the three stone steps and fervently knocked on the door. With a huge feeling of relief, they were ushered in and stood in the neat little studio. The smell of fresh paint, the 'works in progress' on the walls normally conveyed a nicely arty, bohemian feel to their friendly dwelling. This time, they were alarmed by chilly feelings of malaise that pervaded the flat.

"The business has faded right off," complained Virginia moodily to Julia and Margaret They had sought solace in their friend's company only for them to unload their troubles on them. "I only get family portraits to do these days, can you imagine that?"

At any other time, their friend's wry humour would have made them laugh but not today. Olivia and her gentle ways picked up on their friend' gloomy spirits.

"What's wrong with the two of you? You look as if you're having your share of life's troubles along with the rest of us."

"Oh nothing much," came Julia flat mirthless reply. "We came into town to see the family solicitors for the simple matter of having our house put into both names only this loathsome man told us that it couldn't be done. We ended up having a flaming argument on women's rights. If we'd started talking about lesbian's rights, we would definitely have come to blows. The worst of it was that we can't see any way round them. The law is dominated by men in suits who have the world neatly parcelled up for their benefit."

"A drink?" offered Olivia.

"Make it a double whisky for both of us. I'll get us home, OK," Julia said with deep feeling and a touch of defiance of the world.

They made their way into the homely living room where they sprawled into the comfortable padded furniture. Even the shot of alcohol round their systems didn't quite dispel the undertone of gloom. Margaret was slightly puzzled by the packing cases in the corner of the room.

"Have you heard, Jennifer and Claire have separated," Olivia commented out of nowhere in a flat tone of voice that belied the emotional shock that she felt when she heard the news.

"Oh Jesus," exclaimed Margaret." If there was any couple who I thought would last the course, it was them. What on earth went wrong as we haven't heard from them in the last couple of months."

"On the surface, nothing specific. I've heard both of them say vaguely that they were getting on each other's nerves and it had been building up on them but my feeling is that they were dangerously close to their families. It was the drip drip effect of being surrounded by endless conversations of how their brothers and sisters were doing so well with their respective husbands and wives, of their talented offspring, of school exams, parents evenings, of a hundred and one things that made them feel like freaks, that they had to be especially tactfully explained away, of being apologized for, of being described as 'such good friends but isn't it time they settled down,'" Virginia said in bitter tones after she had quickly downed her slug of neat spirits.

"How terrible," empathised Margaret. She could imagine that her estranged sister Constance would behave exactly the same. Being a social outcast had its uses, she considered.

"Of course, we heard about their teachers, of Miss Graham and Miss Leashman who are spinsters who live together, how unfortunate that they got left on the shelf and no one draws the obvious conclusions," Virginia pursued with considerable heartfelt bitterness." It's if we're invisible. No one talks about us as 'it isn't done."

All four women shuddered at that phrase, which precisely summed up what they'd all been fighting against. Once that phrase was allowed to worm its way into that thinking process, it could infect that person with that deadly conformity that they hated. They had spent a lifetime in fighting to keep these insidious forces at bay. Margaret and Julia were uncomfortably aware that their dear friends were the latest casualties in their relationship breakdown.

"Hold on, Virginia, are you talking about Jennifer and Claire or you and Olivia?" Margaret asked sharply. There was a strange drift in the verb structures in this narrative

"Hadn't you guessed?"Olivia said quietly."We're coming under pressure too. I hate to tell you both but the way the country is going, we're quitting. We're getting out of here and settling abroad. We've both talked this over and rather than go the same way our friends have gone, and we want to get out while the going is good. That explains the packing cases."

"Before you hate us in deserting you, have a look at the television we bought. You can see the writing on the wall." Olivia cut in, seeing Margaret and Julia turn white with shock. She turned to the slightly rounded rectangular shape with the grey glass screen, turned on one of the knobs and a black and white picture sprang into view. To the two women's unbelieving eyes, a stream of blandly beguiling family oriented commercials exerted a horribly hypnotic effect just before introducing a cowboy western. At that point, Margaret and Julia sat transfixed with horror until Olivia kindly switched off the messenger as to the unwanted future. Unknown to them, this transfixed a ten year old schoolboy called John Deed as he sat on the settee. He was transfixed by these enduring images of heroics as he watched the flickering black and white scene in a humble Birmingham council house with only contrast and brightness knobs with which to adjust the reality of the picture.


	41. Chapter 41

Scene Forty-One

After Virginia and Olivia made their tear stained farewell, Julia and Margaret went round their daily routines for weeks in a state of shock. As Margaret listlessly brushed her hair in the mirror one morning while Julia lay comatose in bed, she saw with shock her first grey hairs. It was an ominous sign of the future. They hardly set foot outside the mansion and avoided the portrait of themselves and Olivia. It brought back too many painful memories of better days. They were haunted by the feeling that life was closing in all around them, as they were getting older. They felt assaulted by the fake American style advertising mad modernity and the hateful alternative of stifling traditional conformity. No one sang their song or played their part these days. Both women knew better than to consider the false option of retreating to the spurious fastness of their mansion. That was not an option. It was Margaret who first recovered her nerve and reasoned with her partner over a morning tea and toast.

"I tell you what's wrong, darling," Margaret said in determined tones." This country is becoming one big province. Years ago, you came to rescue me when I was choking on the restrictions of the family. You came on your white charger, swept me off my feet and carried me off to a new life in London. Well, that same attitude I ran away from is taking over everywhere."

For the first time in days, Julia smiled and laid her hand on her lover's shapely fingers. Margaret came clearly into her vision as a felt presence rather than as an offstage voice.

"That was pretty daring of me. I felt that I could defy the world. Nowadays, I'm not so sure. Perhaps I'm getting older and more timorous."

"You, darling? That will be the day. It's just getting tougher for us to be as we are. The truth is we need to travel the world, darling and expand our horizons. Let's face it, I understand perfectly well why Olivia and Virginia when they emigrated even though it hurt us."

Thus it was that their 1-year visitor's passports were obtained, their schoolgirl French brushed up and polished, their bags were packed and they were off to London Airport.

"So you two women are off to see gay Paree," said the slightly stubbly taxi driver with black greased back hair as was the fashion," If you were men, you'd find plenty of 'oh la la' from the women there. Stopped over there when I was in the Army."

"I'm sure we'll find what we're looking for," Julia said frostily as she leaned over from the nearside rear passenger seat to pay the fare and got out outside the very modernistic terminal. Right then they were struggling with their baggage to pay much attention to their surroundings.

"Julia and I thought it's about time that saw the world, don't we darling. Paris won't know what's hit it when we come into town," Margaret retorted, drawling lazily in her partner's direction, leaving the man's past experiences in life utterly unable to hang his hat on his perceptions.

From that moment onwards, both women were sucked into the tunnel of holiday experiences that transformed them. For a start, the airport was all so modernist at a time when air travel was still a novelty and for another, there wasn't the interminable waiting round airport lounges. They eagerly surrendered their luggage to be mysteriously spirited away and passed through passport control with all the panache of freeborn Englishwomen.

The first snapshot image of their holiday was of Julia's excited face as she paused at the top of the narrow rickety gantry. She looked especially elegant wearing a white suit, and salmon coloured shirt, the wind whipping through her fair hair. Both she and Margaret waved their country temporarily goodbye. Their first flight in a Vickers Viscount turboprop jet was especially memorable as Julia kindly let Margaret have the window seat. Finally, after clicking their seatbelts, the whining of the propellers changed pitch as they powered the aircraft up into the sky. The two squealing women excitedly held hands, worrying not a jot about their staid and over-British compatriots.

"So where is 20 Rue Jacob, darling?" Margaret asked vaguely as they hung suspended in the brilliant blue sky while fluffy white clouds drifted by underneath them

"Think yourself lucky that someone has been attending to business. I've been looking at the map of Paris and doing the research." Julia retorted in mock-scolding tones as she rustled the paper.

"You are so good to me darling," gushed Margaret in return, highly conscious of the curious stares they were getting.

"I must lean over your shoulder and look outside the window. It looks so good outside," Julia said mischievously, picking up her lover's thoughts. They delighted in being subtly undignified, like a pair of naughty schoolchildren together with that little bit extra. Their fellow-passengers could hardly object because looking out of the window was naturally exciting.

*********

"So how do we get to the salon? I mean we can't just gatecrash it?" Margaret asked in a worried tone of voice as they sat in the dining area, eating croissants and jam and drinking string coffee. Already, they had enthusiastically started to speak in no other language but French and dropped into the habit of mentally translating snippets of random conversations around them into English. Julia smiled slowly and broadly as she deliberately placed a cigarette into her holder and lit up.

"I'll let you into a secret, darling. Virginia was perfectly sweet and wrote to us just before we set off. She has arranged our entrée to the salon on tomorrow afternoon. She is, after all, a painter and known to them as such. Friday afternoon is the usual time, meaning tomorrow. I wanted to keep this as a special surprise for you."

Even Margaret found it impossible to express her emotions openly in this hotel. She wasn't sure whether to hug her lover for her thoughtfulness or complain vociferously for keeping her in the dark. Privately, she had worried about strolling brazenly into a crowd of sophisticated Parisiennes and talking about art with her recently refurbished grasp of the French language.

"You might have told me," she said as a fair compromise. She couldn't really be angry, not in their small, intimate hotel and sharing a romantic holiday with her lover.

Margaret could remember the growing feeling of excitement mixed with nervousness as her sandal covered feet slid along the shiny pavement of the back streets of Paris. She and Julia made their way, arm in arm, towards their destination, passing by endless shuttered windows and beige stone houses.

"We're not going to be out of our league? This is the center of the intellectual avant-garde, after all. I mean, I'm not a writer and I haven't painted for a long time."

"Just relax, dearest. We are two ambassadors from England." Julia replied quickly, pulling the words from the top of her head.

"So is this how we're going to introduce ourselves? It has a certain flair," came Margaret's snappy response.

"Yes….why not?" breathed Julia slowly, these two words being their guide through life. With renewed enthusiasm they walked on down the street

" 'You will come to a 'small two-story house, separated on three sides from the main building on the street'. That's when you know you're in the right place. Good luck, darling," read Julia slowly from Virginia's letter. She held it in her right hand while pointing at the stout wooden door to their left and feeling all fingers and thumbs. Gathering all their strength of will, they slipped through the front door and, as their eyes adjusted to the relatively dim light, they took in the turn of the century furnishings and the semi-circle of the salon regulars. For a second, both women's feet were frozen to the ground." An elegant woman approached them with a welcoming smile on her face whose manner announced that she was surely their hostess. She was a generation older than them but still handsome and fair haired, her looks belying her registered the immediate power of her commanding personality and her sharp blue eyes.

"Welcome to my gatherings, my dears.I have had a letter of introduction from your friend Virginia but I shall speak English just once. It is the rule here, otherwise, life here has its own rules."

Julia gamely threw in her one preprepared line, which, to their dismay, didn't command too much attention. They struggled to keep up with the rapidity of the conversation and chatted in a desultory fashion in reply. They felt stiffer and slower than they were accustomed to be. Both women felt as if they were struggling to keep their heads above water.

"So, have you emigrated to escape all the bores in English high society?" a lightly pitched English. voice called from behind them in perfectly articulated aristocratic cadences. She had taken pity on two younger women, pitched head first into such sophisticated company. Both women turned round to see an elegantly dressed women of indeterminate years,wearing a wide brimmed hat. Both women were drawn to her saucer shaped blue eyes,"I'm Violet Trefusis, by the way."

For the first time since Margaret had known her, Julia stammered out a reply. She felt as if she was a blushing young ingenue talking to a glamorous actress at the stage door.

"I'm so pleased to meet you. A sympathetic soul told me discreetly about how you were willing to dare all to be with Vita Sackville-West, the women you loved. That made you my heroine and made me learnt to think for myself. I swear that I wouldn't otherwise be as I am now."

To her huge relief, the older woman thanked her prettily with her eyes and lips, though a shadow flickered over her expressive features at the mention of her one time lover.

"I thank you. I'm a respectable citizeness these days though I am also an unreformed, unrepentant lesbian. Here I am, Violet Trefusis, member of the Legion d'Honneur," she replied her musical voice articulating every syllable slowly and with care. By contrast, she threw an exaggerated military salute for their benefit to indicate France's highest decoration..

"Are the two connected, darling?You know which ones," answered Margaret in a quick as lightning riposte, enjoying the pleasure of jumping from thought to words in an instant. Violet burst out into delicious tinkling laughter, exposing her immaculate row of teeth. From behind them, Natalie Barnay laughed loudly and rapidly translated this exquisite witticism for the benefit of the others who followed suit. They had truly arrived in style.

"It's a delicious idea but really, I received it for participating in radio broadcasts for the Free French during the war. In my individual way, I did my duty,"Violet explained with a lurking smile playing round her lips at this suggestion. These two younger women recalled such pleasant memories to her mind.

"We are the legion without honour or we wouldn't be here," Natalie interjected, neatly capping this capped this witticism."Now, if you please, we speak French under my roof. It saves me from being interpreter."

"When in Paris, do as the Parisiennes do,"Julia managed to say with an effort, half wondering to herself if he'd got the gender right. She knew she hadn't conveyed her normal insouciance she would otherwise have deployed so effortlessly though her expressiveness started to take shape in her hand movements. They chatted in an inconsequential fashion for a while until their host came to the point.

"So, what brings you to this fair city?"

"I have only been here briefly but my friend Virginia told us that it is once city where she can live and breathe as she wants to."

"My sentiments exactly. So you are an exclusively devoted couple?"

"We know no other way of living,"Margaret answered in an unnaturally shortened sentence.

"One is unfaithful to those one loves in order that their charm does not become mere habit," this formidably attractive woman countered

"To each her own,"Margaret struggled to say, just about dealing with the seductiveness of her approach.

"My queerness is not a vice, is not deliberate, and harms no one."

"I agree entirely but why use the word, queerness? It suggests something unnatural while what we feel is entirely natural," Julia finally managed to say with an effort, stretching dangerously the gap between ambition and verbal facility in a second language.

"I willingly give up," Natalie replied, laughing very appealingly and appreciatively and throwing her hands in the air."I am glad to say that I shall have to learn to treat you younger women with considerable care. It is as well for you to have obviously learned to be strong enough to carry the Sapphic flame the meantime, you must excuse me as I must attend to my other guests."

Margaret and Julia immediately grasped the profound wisdom of this woman who had lived a long life. This was something that they fervently aspired to. They watched their host gently circulate and admired her craft.

"You both need watching,"a fresh voice interceded animatedly. It belonged to a woman called Janet Flanner. She had the determined air of someone who was also pleasingly a mine of information.

"So what keeps this salon society going?" Julia enquired.

"Regrettably, Paris is not as it was. I can tell as I was part of the original expatriate American community and became the Paris Correspondant for the New Yorker Magazine in like Hemingway would read their works which would be published by little publishing houses. Some of us have fallen along th writers continue to come here though it is becoming as much a piece of history as a place where literary reputations were made, where women could read their work. Still, there are enough of us here to continue, to party and be must persevere at all costs."

Both women listened eagerly to the note of past regrets and present determination. It matched their experiences.

"A female muse is part of a working relationship, not someone stuck up on a pedestal. I can tell that you understand this in the way you relate to each other," added another voice approvingly to them in passing . The slim woman of classic Hebraic looks passed into the crowd and was gone.

"You won't tell anyone about, you know, about my dramatic performance over Violet,"Julia whispered in her lover's ear."I mean, I don't swoon for just anyone."

"Don't worry, darling, your secret's safe with me," grinned Margaret.

Both women felt as if they were being drawn into this pleasant crowd and meshed with the rhythms of this gathering where they could break off and drink tea without severing the fragile spider's webs of communications. So the afternoon wore on pleasantly amongst these charming and intelligent women, , drinking tea and socialising with whoever caught their attention.

This was the high point of their visit and not the obvious tourist sights like the Eiffel Tower. The next day, Margaret and Julia climbed the dizzying heights of the Montmartre to socialise with a painter friend they'd met at the salon. As Julia reclined on the rear wall at the back of the tiny apartment, she basked in the sunshine and gloried in the sprawl of the city laid out below her. Meanwhile Margaret concentrated on line and contour, the easel before her ,happily reflecting on their first creative holiday of the rest of their lives and promising to add croissants and French cheeses to their diet. Two totally awestruck women from a later age hung on this icon of creativity in the film that was unrolling before their eyes.


	42. Chapter 42

Scene Forty-Two"What you describe sounds very similar to that recent soiree which we all enjoyed so much," Helen said in slow considerative tones as the salon unrolled itself before her wide open eyes in wide screen cinema.

"Exactly so. The same feeling was there at the time, as it is now."

"So you were able to just go to Montmartre and hang out with a famous artist," Nikki exclaimed, her soul on fire. Were there any limits to this remarkable friend of theirs?

"Hardly that. She was a struggling artist in the same way that Virginia was. I did get to paint a few pictures there, which we weren't able to take back unfortunately. Baggage restrictions, you know. Still, it was a marvellous experience. I tried to convey the enthusiasm that you feel to Sylvia Hollamby when she was a little girl. Needless to say, I failed dismally."

Although the sun was setting as the afternoon wore on, Margaret could see clearly how both women's mouths opened wide with this casual revelation. It glittered off the Morris Minor still parked in the street. She smiled, expecting the sweetly inevitable next sentence from one of them as both women were equally and intelligently inquisitive. Margaret's affections flowed over for them, feeling that there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for them.

"You must be hungry and thirsty, Margaret. You know that Nikki and I won't rest till we hear this story. I'll make us a quick salad and a fresh pot of tea first," Helen kindly offered.

"So out of the blue after nearly twenty years, your sister pops up out of the blue," Nikki said incredulously, shaking her head in amazement. It took until they had eaten and drunk their fill for her to get her head round this one.

"Not quite like that. She did write me a short note first asking if it was OK to pop in with her husband and daughter. Julia and I had a long debate and we finally agreed to see them. I wrote back to them and we fixed up the visit on the phone. We had managed quite nicely without the burden of my useless family but I didn't want to be the one to slam the door in their faces. Julia went along with my wishes. We even moved our painting into a side room to avoid offending them."

********

As they all went through the familiar time travel sensation, they could see how Margaret and Julia women hadn't expected such a culture clash when the front door finally opened.

On the one hand, Margaret was dressed in her normal garb of swirly loose fitting dress and scarf and felt presentable enough. On the other hand, the stranger who faced her wore this tightly buttoned suit, with knee length skirt, sensible shoes and short hair curled in a disciplined fashion. Clinging to her hand was an eight-year-old child who took her attention immediately. Margaret felt the tension immediately from her sister and the mini version beside her. She looked down at the little unsmiling face, the upturned nose and eyes looking suspiciously up at her. She knew immediately that this child had swallowed the family history of her sinful life and all those mind crippling proverbs, hook line and sinker. Looking through their eyes, she could see how disturbingly bohemian she and Julia were and such an affront to their common sense ways. Too late, she realized how she and Julia had taken their lifestyle for granted, especially as they had compounded their obvious guilt by their mansion being much larger and grander than Margaret's diffidence on the phone had let them to believe in. Constance was clearly jealous that her outcast sister had fallen so effortlessly on her feet in such style but she'd never own up to her feelings.

"This is my dear lifelong companion, Julia Desmond who you might not have met before," Margaret offered in her friendliest tones, wavering between tactfulness and loyalty to her partner.

"Pleased to meet you," Julia lied, extending her hand forward. She was wearing her holiday white suit and salmon coloured shirt. She received a limp acknowledgement and a mumbled aside in reply.

"So your husband isn't with you?" Margaret questioned, trying to gauge the lay of the land.

"He has business to do in town," Constance lied before hinting at the real truth." Besides, he didn't want to step into what might be called a delicate situation."

********

Nikki and Helen exclaimed 'Bodybag' in unison, spotting the precise intonations of her mother, which was passed down to the hated prison officer that they had all known. Their white haired friend grinned openly at this observation and watched with interest how her younger self grappled with a tricky encounter that she was already being to regret agreeing to.

*******

"Too bad," Margaret said automatically, letting the implied slur pass her by." Anyway, what sort of journey have you had?"

"Absolutely terrible. The standard of service has to be seen to be believed. All this waiting around for the train. You get no help in finding the right train. London's all rush, rush, rush. Still, I suppose in Hampstead, you don't come across that sort of thing."

"Mummy, I'm hungry and thirsty," Sylvia called out upwards to her mother, the fount of all knowledge.

Julia hospitably offered to nip to the kitchen for refreshments. She returned with a plateful of rich tea biscuits, chocolate cakes for them all, a jugful of orange squash, and a potful of tea. Without another word, the little brat picked out the cakes and started scoffing them all while drinking her orange.

"So what's your favourite subject at school," Margaret asked, trying to be auntlike while her sister Constance deployed the presence of her child to stay in the background.

"I haven't really got one. I suppose I like Scripture. It tells you what to think. I don't mind Art. You can mess around with paints."

"That's really good," Margaret exclaimed as she thought she had found a chink in the brick wall she and Julia had encountered. Were all children as difficult as this one, she wondered? "Julia and have recently been on holiday in Paris and spent a delightful afternoon in the Montmartre district with a French painter friend of ours. She has a positive talent equally for landscapes and portraiture, with such bold colours.We learnt so much about the artistic colony in Paris. It made different cultures and histories seem so romantic."

"You were always the artistic one, Margaret." Constance sneered." I remember all those daubs in your bedroom."

"What happened to them?" asked Margaret with genuine interest.

"Mother threw them away," Constance said in matter of fact tones," along with the rest of the rubbish in your bedroom."

"Isn't my uncle going to appear?" Sylvia interrupted out of nowhere after stuffing her face full of cakes. She and her mother were oblivious with to the way that Margaret's face had flushed with anger. Behind her, Julia clenched her fists with rage.

"I'm afraid you have no uncle," Margaret said with audible restraint in her voice.

"Most normal families that have aunts have uncles also. That's the way families live. Mother tells me that families need a man around the house to look after things," the objectionable brat pronounced with great insistence, in between swallowing the last mouthful of cake.

"Sylvia, you'll find as you grow up that not all families are the same. Your Aunt Margaret and I are perfectly capable of taking care of this house," Julia intervened, a slight edge of anger shading her attempt to be smoothly reasonable. Judging by the blank look of incomprehension on her face, that observation went clean past her, not for the last time in her life. It was only then that they noticed the way that Constance was looking periodically at her watch, more and more nervous by the minute.

"Look here, Margaret. We'd arranged for my husband to pick us up when he's done his business. He's due here any second and we really must be going."

"Mummy, I feel sick," the young Sylvia complained.

"Never you mind, you'll get better. It's all your aunt's fault in letting you have all those cakes."

"I suppose we can't possibly delay you," Julia interjected dryly. Constance turned to her child to advise her on her duties.

"Say bye bye to your aunt, Sylvia and thank her for the orange drink and cakes. After all, it's only good manners."

"Thank you for the orange drink and biscuits, Auntie Margaret," intoned the child with not the faintest trace of emotion in her voice or on her face.

Julia turned away from them and pointedly opened the door. Promising repeatedly that they must meet again, the mother and daughter backed away into the yard for a little while and promptly bolted away.

As the door shut, the two women promptly fell into each other's arms, their pent up rage gradually fading as that blessed feeling of normality started to return to them.

********

"Jesus, this makes me want to throw up," exclaimed Nikki loudly." She really doesn't change. It's all self, self, self with her,"

"Well, that's par for the course for Bodybag, to sponge off you. First it's chocolate cakes and orange and now it's your will. I can see how she learnt from her mother to dodge all responsibility as well," Helen observed acidly.

Her friend's kindness and sensitivity brought tears to Margaret's eyes. She dabbed at them with her lace handkerchief and it suddenly struck her that she needed to know more about her friends who were particularly unassuming and self-effacing.

"You've been so kind in listening to me talk for ages. I know how much it means to you but I've never known what it was that drew you together. It really matters to me to know

Even at my age, it's never too late to learn."

" 'Even at your age'," quoted Nikki, teasing their older friend gently." You're seventy-eight years young, Margaret. I've never disagreed with anything you've ever said but if I did, I know that you could give me a run for my money."

"And me, too," echoed Helen.

"So who's going to start?" joked Nikki, laughing nervously, glancing at her partner and wondering at which point to dive in.

"Let's put it this way," Helen said in decisive tones as she found a handle on their story." We weren't the likeliest couple ever. I was the brand new, idealistic wing governor who was going to change the world. Nikki had absolutely no respect for how the prison system worked and kept up this façade of being a 'hard case', the lightning verbal jab, and the 'don't go near me' glare. Nikki and I really were on the opposite sides of the prison bars. Added to that, I was stuck with the delusion that I cared for my last ever boyfriend and it took time to realize that he was both a control freak and weak Being up against the cynical corrupt 'old boy's network' I thought I needed Nikki as a 'great ally to get on board.'"

"It took Helen a lot of chasing before she finally persuaded me to trust her. After that, I opened up like a flower. I became, and still am, fiercely protective of her," added Nikki.

"We got to read each other's emotions behind the words. We had real difficulty in acting naturally towards each other as she was stuck in her role of prisoner and me as prison officer. There were too many prying eyes around and we couldn't find anywhere quiet and romantic, except on the one occasion when she broke out of prison when we'd had a row….."

"Yeah, that was down to me," Nikki wryly confessed. "Larkhall Prison at work helped bring on a senseless overdose of insecurity and jealousy. It used to be a really bad habit of mine, which cost me a few relationships. It's only now that I've learned to switch it off for good. What it meant was that after Helen had got over her heart attack on me plonking myself on her doorstep, we slept together for the first time. I still remember making love on this very settee."

"Nikki felt bad, gazing out of her lonely prison cell high up in the prison block to see me coming through the prison gates and I went through the same going home to a silent flat on my own, knowing that Nikki was locked up in her cell on her own. That was torture for us both. At a time where I was just sketching out in my mind just what it meant to be attracted to another woman and going home to work on Nikki's appeal. Thank God John intervened and the appeal was successful. Everything after that has been incredibly easy for us both."

Margaret smiled at the obvious tender glances between her two friends in the way they told their story and the easy way they bounced the narration easily between each other. She searched her mind for the words to encapsulate everything.

"It sounds to me that you really needed to rescue each other. I've come across stories of family disapproval but the world of bolts and bars goes to the ultimate extreme. I haven't heard any of my friends having to fight like this. You're both very courageous."

Both women looked shy and self-deprecating at the praise bestowed on them by their friend. Both felt that they did what they had to do. In this pause in the conversation, all three of them suddenly noticed how the night shadows had spread across their back garden and the full moon was in the sky. The Morris Minor was but a rounded object of blackness by the side of the road.

"I'm sorry to mention it but I was wondering what you were doing about getting home. I'd not noticed how dark it is," Nikki started to say in a halting tone, clearly discomforted. The older woman read her mind like a book.

"If it's not too much trouble then if you find me a few necessaries, I'll be happy sleeping on this sofa. I'll be fine driving back on Sunday morning."

An intense feeling of relief flowed between the three women. That was what all three women really wanted. In the restful pause that followed, Nikki gazed thoughtfully as she sipped her tea until a stray thought crossed her mind that begged to be spoken.

"You never told us who that intelligent woman was who talked about female muses. She had the right idea of life."

"As it happens," Margaret blushed with embarrassment at the thought of namedropping yet again," That was Alice B Toklas, who happened to pass by. I'm sure you'll know she was the lifelong partner of the illustrious avant-garde writer, Gertrude Stein."

Both women's eyes turned as round as saucers. Both Bodybag and her precious mother had just met their friend after these momentous encounters and remained stupidly ignorant. They had never known the amazing woman who had one sat before them, as that all those years ago. Then again, they were family so why should they know?


	43. Chapter 43

Scene Forty-Three

Waking up in a strange place was a temporarily disorientating experience, especially if the mind is half asleep and the limbs can't move. The feel of a strange quilt next to the skin and different nightclothes than accustomed to made for further confusion. Her bed felt strange, nicely padded enough but narrower than she was used to. She couldn't think how it had shrunk but it didn't matter as she had a good night's sleep. It was only when she persuaded her eyelids to open fractionally when she stared at the ceiling when she knew that it wasn't her room. Turning round to take in her surroundings, a huge breath of relief swept through the momentarily ascending sense of panic when she realized that she had been sleeping in Helen and Nikki's flat. Everything was absolutely normal with nothing to worry about and her clothes were nicely folded on the back of the armchair. This gave her a blissful sense of serenity, that everything was all right with her world. Now she recalled the marvellously civilized evening chatting to her friends and getting no more than moderately tipsy, as was her habit in good times. She was lying on a foldup bed which lay alongside the sofa. That might have been her only sleeping alternative if the brainwave hadn't suddenly flashed in Helen's organized mind after she had finished her third vodka and lemonade. As she lay back in contentment she felt that much though she was attached to her house, a night away from her normal habits would do her no end of good.

A polite knock on the door announced Helen's slightly dishevelled appearance in a light purple long dressing gown.

"Hi there, Margaret. I hope you slept well enough. To tell you the truth, we'd totally forgotten about the bed until it came into my head on the third refill."

"Absolutely fine. The extra padding underneath the springs worked out fine".

"That's good," Helen replied, flashing her a smile."I hope you don't mind me coming through. Nikki and I having an early morning cup of tea unless you want one as well."

"Please," came the gratified response and a grateful smile. Her friends knew her habits so well.

"Before we met you, Nikki was a hardened coffee woman, the blacker and stronger the better. She's changed," laughed Helen mischievously

"I heard that. It's perfectly true of course," sounded a clear distant voice from the far bedroom.

Margaret sank back with a feeling of bliss. The problem was that she could get too used to all this.

It was later on when Margaret took her regretful departure, knowing that her two friends had a week's work to face. They accompanied her to her car as she strode ahead with great determination. They knew exactly why she so intent on leaving.

"Well, if I managed to get here with no trouble, the reverse journey should be fine. The roads look quiet," Margaret said as she sat behind the wheel, chatting to her friends through the open window. As they looked inside the car, it had that curiously old-fashioned look, short of modern gadgetry but looking very well preserved.

"You'll be fine Margaret," Nikki said in warm reassuring tones, which received a nervous smile in return. Finally, she turned the key in the engine which fired up nice and smoothly. Waving gaily at her friends, she moved smoothly off down the road.

Once round the corner, Margaret was pleasantly conscious of being out in the swirl of London's traffic, even on a Sunday morning. Her responses felt a little sharper and she was bolder in manoeuvering her dainty blue car amidst the sleek aggressive modern cars, the militaristic four wheel drive vehicles standing higher off the ground than hers, not to say the heavy lorries. Her mind neatly reversed the journey she had nervously undertaken the other day as she coordinated the combination of gears, clutch and steering wheel. She couldn't care less how outdated her car looked as London traffic placed definite speed restrictions. Finally, she turned into her familiar high street, boldly sailed past her newsagent, turned into her road and came to a halt with a flourish. She switched off the ignition and, as the steady purring sound of her engine died away, the fresh summer breeze blew gently through the open window and sunbeams shone into her eyes, gently filtered through the protective green leaves of the overhanging tree.

As she sat in her living room with her favourite cup of tea, she felt energized by the feel of sleeping over at a friend's house. It was a small-scale version of the beds in all the foreign countries where she and Julia had slept but it told her emphatically that she was still functioning, still part of the world. What was enormously reassuring was that she still had a future. As the sun shone through her window, suffusing the room with light and colour, a wave of tenderness spread through her. She realized that her life's story wasn't completed yet by any means. There was a conference that she had promised to help subvert and friends to meet and anything else that came to her mind. Life was good and it tasted sweet. She wasn't going anywhere and neither were her friends. Above all else, she had regained connection with a group of sympathetic souls who seemed ageless in their capacity for understanding and their union of heart and mind.

*********

Sir Ian was in an unusually tense mood. Day by day, the conference was drawing nearer and he was uncomfortably aware that John Deed was the one disruptive force that was capable of taking over the running of the conference, despite the best intentions otherwise. By the way he rattled the teaspoon in his cup of tea, everything about the man suggested barely controlled tension and inner conflict.

Finally, he made a sudden decision to activate his plan B and appeal to the man's better nature. For about the third time in his life, he knocked politely enough at the door of his chamber.

"Ah, Ian. This is an unexpected meeting. Take a seat, as we were about to take a break, "John offered hospitably enough

"Thank you," Sir Ian replied, forcing a half-smile.

Coope took the hint neatly and came forward to pour the tea. She retreated into the background, studiously engaged to all appearances while her retentive hearing was fully switched on.

"So what takes you to my chambers?" John said lightly enough.

"There's a matter on which I wanted to sound out your views, Sir John," came the careful reply. John raised his eyebrows, but otherwise his expression was imperturbable.

"It's this way. I wanted to talk to you about the forthcoming 'Imprisonment and Modernisation' Conference."

"The one you were trying to block me from going to. You should know by now that if someone says I can't do something, the more I want to do it," John said mischievously. As he said these words, he saw the blank look of incomprehension on the other man's face and knew that that Margaret would immediately understand him.

To gain time, Sir Ian picked up his cup of tea and sipped at it. His carefully constructed plan went out of the window when he saw this first backstage glimpse of this impossible man. He nerved himself to find out what made this man tick.

"You know, I've never really talked to you to see what makes you tick," Sir Ian said in precisely articulated words. It struck a wrong note with John as it made him feel that he was a specimen under the microscope.

"Only because if you do, you'll hear the sounds of the bomb that will blow up in your face," John said humorously and was amused to see the nervous tic twitch at the other man's facial muscles.

"That's something that I don't understand. From what I've seen in sitting in your court, you are very much in control of proceedings but outside of that, you live your life in a state of permanent anarchy, both in your personal and your political life."

John raised his eyebrows with surprise. This remark had the feeling of being less scripted than the man's normal utterances and spoke more of his own state of mind. John decided to pursue the line of debate offered to him because, well, he couldn't resist the temptation to ask the question.

"Just why is control and self control so important to you, Ian?"

The man was brought up short by this question. He had never thought to ask himself this question before as control took such a central, unquestioned place in his life. It permeated every waking moment in his life from the moment his alarm clock woke him up in the morning and settling himself down to sleep at night. Everything in his own life alone was precisely regulated, tabulated, predicted and charted. He was also the administrative head of a government organization with myriad responsibilities downwards which demanded endless attention and care.

"I believe that everything in government and administration is there for a purpose. We are living in an increasingly complex world that demands tight regulation of resources and organization that delivers. Ordinary people just want a meal on the table and pay his way in life. What they don't want are irresponsible mischief-makers at work, filling their heads with dangerous ideas. The worst of it is that these troublemakers don't know how easily the whole edifice of civilization can come crashing down on us all, especially when we are living in such dangerous times."

John looked at the man with real curiosity. Sir Ian was really sweating with fear and didn't really register the fact that someone else was in the same room as him. As the personification of the worst kind of troublemaker, he should have provoked Sir Ian to open eyed rage but that wasn't happening.

"So did you get these very definite views from your family upbringing?" John asked, remembering very well what Margaret had told him about her friend and her dreadfully straight-laced family. It was dawning on him that

"Of course I did," exploded Sir Ian in a rush of words." My father, like me, was a top ranking civil servant and worked hard to provide for the family while my mother looked after the home. I was brought up to follow in his footsteps. My background is utterly conventional and I'm proud of it."

A curious half-smile spread across John's face. In an earlier period, Sir Ian would have come over as the stereotype emotionally corseted man, frightened by original ideas and imprisoned by his family background. Thanks to Margaret, he knew better. He was absolutely certain that lurid fragmented stories of his wickedly licentious aunt had got back to him to frighten him into submission. For one second, he was enormously tempted to spill the beans until, for some unaccountable reason, he decided to hold back.

"I assume you find my views amusing," snapped Sir Ian." There are many who think like that, the way society is going these days or perhaps you're thinking of my marriage to Francesca that you helped to ruin."

"You've got me wrong, Ian. Far be it to cast judgment on you. All of us have to understand our family background as best we can. Being a parent isn't that easy."

Sir Ian was faintly touched by John's tolerant attitude. He sank back in his armchair and pulled himself together after this unseemly display of emotion.

"What I was really going to ask you, Sir John is to try and express yourself reasonably at this Conference. You've grown up in civilized society where we try and be agreeable with each other. You know that and I know that. All I'm concerned is that violent criminals get the message that they can run amok with total impunity in a society where all the normal constraints are breaking down………"

John heard the man out patiently without inwardly changing his stance. The trouble with Sir Ian and his kind that they couldn't see that he was part of the problem rather than part of the solution. Allying himself with morally corrupt politicians was chipping away, bit at a time, at his moral legitimacy, the crumbling rock on which they all stood.


	44. Chapter 44

Loved the update. Season 7 has just started here on Logo, so I'm appreciating your. Scene Forty-Four

After these last months of stimulating company, Margaret was emboldened to consider taking a trip into the centre of London, something she hadn't done for a very long time. It was only at nighttime when she considered the practicalities when she became nervous at the prospect of diving into the ruthless sea of metal, concrete and exhaust fumes. True, she had successfully driven over to Nikki and Helen's flat on a weekend but this was different. More frightening still was the prospect of parking in the city centre. A cold sweat came over her as a vision of her endlessly driving round and round in circles while looking round for a parking place. She seriously wondered if perhaps she was taking on more than she could deal with. It was a hateful thought as she considered that she had never backed down on any challenge that life had thrown at her

"Er Helen, It's Margaret here," came the unusually quavery over polite voice down the phone." I don't want to disturb you if you're busy but I wanted, that is if you don't mind giving me a bit of advice."

"Ask away, Margaret," Helen's warm, compassionate voice responded, instantly starting to settle her nerves. Secretly, she was worried as her friend sounded older than she normally did." If there's anything I can help you with, I'd be only too happy. We owe you such a lot for all the fascinating stories you've told us."

"It's nothing much," the older woman answered, her voice sounding more normal much to Helen's relief." I wanted to visit the National Portrait Gallery on my own, to see that I can still do that sort of thing. . I've not gone into the center of London for such a long time only I was a bit nervous of driving there and still more, of finding somewhere to park."

"I wouldn't even dream of trying to park round there," came the instant reply." At a pinch I can battle the wall of death round there in rush hour traffic but as for parking, forget it. My choice would be going on the underground but that's just my preference."

"The underground?" echoed the older woman, the thought not having crossed her mind. She was starting to get nervous of being swallowed up in the dark

"I wouldn't recommend going in rush hour times as you get crammed in like sardines but it's pretty leisurely otherwise. As far as I recollect, it's a straight run through on the Northern Line though you've got to pick the correct branch. You'll probably feel more comfortable in the daytime."

"Is there any danger of, you know, pickpockets or….worse than that?" questioned Margaret nervously as a fresh concern struck her.

"Well, obviously, you need to make sure your purse is kept safe," Helen said in careful, definite tones. "There's actually more chance that a tourist will ask you for help with directions and much more chance that if you do the same, that person can't talk English."

A burst of relieved laughter sounded in the younger woman's ear at Helen's witty retort. It had the desired effect of getting things in proportion. With affectionate pleasure, Helen knew at that point that their friend would rise to the challenge. After some inconsequential chitchat, Margaret signed off.

It had indeed panned out as Helen had expected. Margaret had gingerly approached the redbrick structure on the street corner with the ubiquitous underground insignia suspended over her head and the black hole into which she must fall. Finally, she slipped into the slow moving humanity and was directed down the short escalator to the correct platform. With a feeling of satisfaction, she selected the most convenient opening set of double doors and took her seat, earnestly plotting the litany of stations along the thick black line and the one she needed to select. The whining sounds of the underground propelled her along very sedately with no need to worry. She looked at her reflection in the opposite window and saw herself as others saw her, an elderly white haired lady who had the perfect right to be there. Calmly, she tuned into the automated message, which kindly reminded her to make her exit, and she sedately rode the escalator up to the surface, smiling as the adverts for the latest West End theatre productions drifted past her eyes. Once up to the surface, she eagerly walked through Trafalgar Square, past the clear blue waters of the fountains, up a flight of steps and into the hearts delight of the picture gallery.

Once inside the gallery, Margaret was transported into another world. The bold splashes, the vivid colours and forms obviously appealed to her, as did her venture, in her mind, into different worlds. She strolled along the long galleries, plenty of space around her. It was only a little while later when different sentiments started to rise to the surface. While she admired all the lush imposing masters from different eras, different nationalities, a tinge of regret suffused through her senses that her dear departed friend Virginia Bellamy couldn't have had her works exhibited in this gallery. She certainly deserved it and shouldn't have had to struggle her way through the nineteen fifties before emigrating. It was in this introspective daze that she turned a corner and bumped into another elderly woman.

"Oh, I'm ever so sorry," she exclaimed apologetically to the other woman. It was as well that her mobile phone was insistently ringing so that she was searching feverishly for her handbag rather than snap back at Margaret for her absent mindedness. This gave Margaret time to look at the other woman more closely. She was conventionally dressed, her hair short and curled in the fashion of the unquestioningly conformist part of her generation. It had once been fair and now faded to nearly white, while her face was lined and careworn and she held herself with a distinct stoop. She snapped down the phone as loudly as was allowed by the hushed, respectful atmosphere of the art gallery.

"Yes, Donald. This is your mother**, **Mrs Victoria Spencer, here. If you must know, I'm in an art gallery and I can't be disturbed. I'll be perfectly safe. I'll be on the six o clock train from St Pancras and I won't be late for the grandchildren. Promise."

With an irritated gesture, she clicked off the phone and there was something familiar about the definite north-country accent, her physical mannerisms that struck a chord. She looked into the other woman's hazel eyes and she started to put two and two together. Since her confidence had been on a roll after her successful journey, she seized the moment that jumped up at her.

"Excuse me but there's something familiar about you. I know it's an enormous coincidence but you remind me of someone I knew many years ago called Victoria Steeples."

The woman's face dropped a mile and a blush spread across her face. Her eyes looked shiftily around her and this confirmed Margaret's suspicions. She decided to play her cards carefully.

"My name is Margaret Winters. Many years ago I moved to London from the north and I lost the accent I was born with. If you were once Victoria Steeples, then it's a heaven sent chance to meet up again as we were good friends at one time."

"That was my name a long time ago and I remember you now," the other woman said, a cautious strained smile on her face as she peered intently at Margaret before fishing out her glasses." You have to excuse me as people change and my eyes aren't as they used to be."

"Shall we go round together and perhaps go to a café afterwards, to catch up on the old days," Margaret suggested in her most innocent tones, reaching for the most persuasive arguments." It's better than risking the muggers round London on our own."

"That's a good idea," the other woman said in relieved tones, grasping eagerly for safe conventionalities. Margaret couldn't help but think that she would have once walked round an arts gallery, hand in hand with Julia but this time, she kept her distance. In her mind's eye, she still remembered the schoolgirl she had known with thick blond hair, fresh complexion, hazel eyes and innocent manner, her endearing grin and lights in her eyes but this prim and proper woman was a total stranger. All there was in common was a shared Christian name and the same body. Nevertheless, they traveled round from one painting to another with undisguised pleasure. The problem was that Margaret couldn't concentrate on the paintings but disturbing feelings intruded. At last they went in a meandering circle round the galleries back to where they had started. It might have been a metaphor for her life, Margaret reflected ruefully."I don't know about you but I've walked my feet off. We need a nearby café to chat before I head home to the family," Victoria proposed to the other woman's silent assent. At least they had that feeling in common. . "So how has life treated you, these last I don't know how long," Margaret asked diplomatically over a steaming hot cup of coffee in a crowded restaurant, filled with perfect strangers. "You might remember that I got married to John Spencer. He was always interested in me but could never pluck up the courage to ask me out," this stranger eagerly rattled out her story." Anyway, he had lined up a nice safe job in a bank and was a good catch. He bought us a nice mock Tudor, semi-detached house in one of those new estates that they were starting to build before the war. Very forward thinking he was and always a good provider for the family. We settled down and we had two children- that's one of mine you heard me talking to on the phone- and I had everything in life that I ever wanted. I'm a long-standing member of the WI, the bridge club. The house is my little kingdom. It's a shame I never knew I was going to meet you or I'd have shown you photos of the family." "That's quite all right, Victoria," Margaret said politely though inwardly she shuddered at the prospect. She just about figured out that WI meant Women's Institute. A rush of memories flooded back to her of when her hated niece had inflicted similar tortures on the one and only occasion that she'd visited their house."You have conveyed a very vivid mental picture of your life." "But what of you, Margaret?" came the conventional enough reply. Margaret looked at this grown-up stranger sharply and wondered if she really wanted to know the lurid truth before deciding against being direct. "I suppose you could say that I settled down with my partner very happily though I haven't any children. I live in Hampstead and I must confess that I'm very happy with my house too," Margaret said dryly. "Hampstead?" questioned the other woman with a suspicious lift in her voice "That reminds me, I have kept in touch with your family since you moved to London. Constance was always talking with you. She told me how her daughter married a young man called Bobby Hollamby. He was a fellow prison officer who set up in his own undertaking business. Got three children, too." "You evidently know more of my family than I do," Margaret retorted, giving way to that surging desire for the truth as Nikki's irony loving soul prompted her.

"I just like keeping in contact with company. You know, to keep up with the local news."

"I did meet him and Sylvia a couple of times recently. I'm afraid I didn't exactly hit it off with them," Margaret said briefly, feeling more and more uncomfortable, the more this woman prattled on at her. She was finding it harder and harder to remain politely diplomatic as time went on. "You surprise me. They were talking to me only the other day saying how much they enjoyed your visit to them."

Finally, Margaret took in a deep breath of air and let out the least confrontational line of thinking that had welled up inside her.

"Victoria, what I don't understand about you is that all you've talked about is your family, your social life but you've never talked about yourself. What I remember most about you years ago is how we both worshipped Joan of Arc and how I cheeked that dried up old history teacher whose name I've completely forgotten along with her very reactionary views on history." To Margaret's surprise, her spontaneous outburst of laughter at the memory was greeted by a frown of disapproval.

"What we might have been foolish to do when we were young and immature isn't something that I'd approve of nowadays. When I was a child I thought as a child but when I grew up I put away childish things, you know."

A rush of feelings started to pour through Margaret's system. She couldn't deny the long buried feelings of her first love and the bitterness of subsequent betrayal. At the same time, fierce feelings of thankfulness for Julia's constant loyalty and, yes it had to be said, the growing bond between her and her new circle of friends. For a reason she couldn't work out, she made one last attempt to reclaim their shared past.

"I don't know though, Victoria. Can't you remember the night we slept together? You were my first lover, don't you remember?"

To her total surprise, Victoria turned bright pink with embarrassment. Her eyes looked every way but in her direction. In her world, talking this way wasn't such a big problem.

"Margaret, you can't say such things in public. I've been a respectably married woman all my life, a proud grandmother. I remember everything that happened in my past. We were good friends at school, I remember that much. All I came for was to catch up on the old days, that's all."

The respectable looking white haired woman looked all around her. As she expected, no one was paying the slightest attention, being too intent on their own cares, their own conversations. There was nowhere more lonely than a public place in London, the center of the Metropolis. Victoria was listening to what she thought the phantom eavesdropper was doing.

"Anyway, if you excuse me, I had better make my way back to my family, my grandchildren. They'll be expecting me," the harassed, haunted woman added, picking up her handbag, leaving a half drunk cup of coffee. Margaret made no attempt to stop her clanging shut the fractionally open prison door on her psyche and watched her go.

When she got back home, a wave of depression hit her and she instantly reached for the phone.


	45. Chapter 45

**Scene Forty-Five**

It wasn't until Margaret's trip to the National Portrait Gallery that Helen and Nikki realized how protective they had become of their friend. They loved the delicious unspoken realization that they had abolished rigid concepts of generations. It was such an absurd idea of one side laying down the law from experience and the other side either meekly accepting it or defiantly rejecting being talked down to. Once they had helped Margaret to confidently step out on her own, they felt warm and comfortable with themselves as they pictured her serenely gliding round the arts gallery and reclaiming one more segment of her life. It shocked the pair of them to hear Margaret come on the phone that afternoon, obviously distraught so that they immediately promised to come straight over. They were both dressed in casual jeans and T shirts, their hair dishevelled but they shot straight out of the house and into their car.

They raced round in record time to Margaret's house, the route now being so totally familiar that they could have navigated their way in their sleep. Feeling a little out of breath, they finally knocked at the front door. As it opened, their friend summoned up a faint smile at the sight of them but tears had been obviously running down her face and her hair was awry. Both women were shocked at her appearance as it was so much at odds with the very alive, very alert woman who normally kept them tantalizingly on their toes.

Nikki didn't hesitate and took the other woman in her arms and gently stroked her hair. Helen's arm went round their friend's shoulders. This only prompted Margaret to burst into tears and they could feel her sobs through her body. They knew enough to not try and dissuade her emotions coming out this way. It was something she needed to do. Finally, Margaret found her voice and insisted in firm tones that she needed to fix her face, waving in the general direction to the kitchen for them to make a pot of tea for them all. Both women gave way to her without second thoughts. It was what she needed to do.

"Come and tell us all about what happened, Margaret," Nikki said in her tenderest tones, finally sitting either side of their friend," We're both on your side, remember."

"I'll be mother with the teapot if you want," Helen offered kindly. The two kindhearted gestures enabled their friend to gather her wits and to start talking.

"I was all right travelling on the underground as it turned out. I know I could have asked for a lift and you'd have done it but I just wanted to see if I could do it on my own, I hope you'd understand."

"We understood perfectly. You needed your wings to fly with and we didn't want to stand in your way. At least that part went well if we're guessing right."

Their friend smiled warmly, a feeling of tenderness in her heart and she started to relate her story. It might have seemed a mundane journey but her dear friends hung on her every word. It was only her distressing encounter with Victoria where she found difficulty in finding the words. She finally stumbled towards the end of her story and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. It had crossed her mind that she had lived her life in a dreamy haze for months until she met her friends yet she had cried more than she had since before she met them. She has also laughed and talked far more than she had done for ages. She couldn't make sense of it all except that she was living more intensely than she had done for a while and it crossed her mind that perhaps these two went together.

"Margaret, exactly how old are you," Nikki asked in the gentlest, softest tones.

The older woman looked confused for a second and then answered the mysterious question. Helen looked puzzled at the strange question.

"I'm seventy eight. God, to think I've lived as long as that. You tend to stop counting after a while," she replied with a shamefaced grin.

"You're not, you know. Somewhere inside you is still that fourteen, fifteen-year-old girl whose heart was broken. We can feel it in you," came the infinitely compassionate reply

A look of terror flashed momentarily into the eyes of the older woman until Nikki gently brushed her cheek tenderly with her fingers.

"There's nothing wrong with that, darling. Perhaps there's a child or a teenager in all of us. I knew it from the way you described the way your parents rejected you and your skipped over the way your heart was broken by your first lover. You must believe me when I say that I know what it feels like. At least you had a soul mate in Julia like I have in Helen, someone who never let you down for all those years."

It was the tears of sympathy welling in Nikki's eyes and Helen's felt presence that did the trick. She did recall how Nikki had briefly explained that she had been expelled from her boarding school for lesbian activities and had been disowned by her parents. That must be a terrible experience as at least she had somewhere to run to.

"You're right, both of you. It was hard to deal with a heartbreak like that."

"We had a few rocky patches when we were both in Larkhall with no one to turn to, believe you me. Just imagine, the ultimate no no for a prison officer was to have a relationship with a prisoner. Nikki wasn't much better off either," Helen said sympathetically. To their intense relief, the tension that was running through their friend eased as she started to gain some comfort.

"The love that I felt was definitely a 'love that dare not speak its name.' Oscar Wilde was definitely right about that," observed Margaret, drinking her lukewarm tea.

"Are you sure you didn't absorb his wise words directly?Let's face it, you've met everyone else that's a legend in our circles," Helen said impishly

.

That made Margaret laugh out loud and the clouds that had swirled round her soul were blown away by the fresh, invigorating breeze from outside.

'Let's face it, Victoria has spent a lifetime having lived with the wrong decision, immersing herself with trivia that she's persuaded herself to believe in. Worse than that, she's ended up playing a part that she didn't even write, the happily married heterosexual dutiful wife and here you are, the embodiment of what she might have been. I know all about that as I very nearly fell into that same trap. Want to hear about it?"

"Helen is, of course, our resident expert on boyfriends," Nikki added with a mischievous grin.

"Ex-boyfriends you mean, you horrible cheeky woman. If we were at home, I'd hit you with a heavy object," Helen mock-scolded her partner, a big grin of appreciation spreading across her face.

"I should love to very much," Margaret said gratefully. She knew beyond doubt that this was the answer. For the first time that day, she was laughing at her friends' antics, which she shrewdly guessed was for her benefit.

"OK, time for my time travel into my past and a tricky journey littered with the wreckage of unbelievably bad judgments where my only redeeming virtue was that I never actually got hitched so Nikki could persuade me of the error of her ways before it was too late…….I had a very strange background in a distant Scottish manse, brought up by my father who never gave me the encouragement and love that I deserved, my mother having died tragically young of cancer………"

"Oh my God, I never knew that," exclaimed Margaret only to receive a puzzled look. To Helen, it seemed perfectly natural only as she had nothing else to compare it with. She had thought she'd got over the loss.

"Strangely enough, it was something I thought I'd come to terms with. I suppose I was an outgoing and sociable child but with a strong desire in a structured fashion to realize my potential - you smile, Nikki, having first heard that expression when you were in the Lifer's Group at Larkhall. Believe you me, Margaret, I was actually in charge of this rebel," Helen broke off with a broad smile seeing the smirk on Nikki's face. Margaret grinned at the unlikely thought, having considered the two women so perfectly and evenly matched from the very first time she met them.

"That was the serious side of me," continued Helen, determined not to let herself be sidetracked." The other side of me took advantage of my good looks in knowing how to be attractive to men. I never thought there was any other option. I also needed some kind of warmth and sympathy, of closeness, OK, to make up for what I'd never had but I ended up not talking the same language as my partners. The more closely involved, the more frightened I got of commitment. I was the one who took responsibility for breaking off the relationship and dealing with all the hurt feelings, and my own guilt in somehow being responsible. Somehow, my relationships could never gell and I couldn't work out why. In Sean's case, I even got pushed as far as getting engaged to him, only there were two things happening. One was my realization that this languid public school posh bloke was only for me on his terms, a control freak in other words- otherwise he was full of vague nothings and not up to the partner I wanted out of life. The other thing going on was Nikki………"

Margaret's heart warmed to the two women as she heard their story, one in words the other in reflected tangible emotions. It was her turn to listen.

"So how did the two of you finally become sweethearts from such diverse backgrounds?" questioned Margaret, to which Helen smiled at such a perceptive remark.

"It's a long story, Margaret, but it took a hell of a lot to break down Nikki's perfectly understandable deep distrust of a system that was riddled with favouritism, corruption, bullying and incompetence. She was the original hard case. I sought out Nikki as an ally as the one person who had more contempt for the system than I had. She thought I was perhaps well meaning but naïve and possibly with an agenda of my own. Is that correct, sweetheart?"

"Got it in one, babes," Nikki replied, content to let Helen do all the talking since she was clearly on a roll. Margaret was obviously all ears.

"I finally persuaded Nikki I was for real in sticking my neck out for her. I thought I'd found the ally I wanted but I'd awoken her love for me. In the meantime, I'd find myself carrying on the same halfhearted verbal games with Sean but when Nikki and I talked about really anything, everything was as real as can be. Bit by bit, I was starting to find the empathy I was looking for in her. What swung it for me was when she finally went to the wire for me in unofficially preventing a fellow prisoner from overdosing. She knew very well that a second suicide on my watch would finish my career. It showed me that she not only desired me, she cared for me. After that, I had to unlearn everything I'd learned about matters of the heart and finally get it right, including fighting for her appeal with John's help. Finally, we both got out of Larkhall and here we are."

"You are a very brave woman, Helen. I can't imagine having to fundamentally change my identity under such trying circumstances." Margaret exclaimed, trying to get her head around this unbelievable story that her two modest, unassuming friends had been telling. She wondered why they had been listening intently to her stories when they had their own love story to tell. They paused awhile while Helen was deep in thought, a particular memory trying to take shape and surface.

"Nikki, didn't you say in one of your darker moods that you'd had experience of straight women who didn't know the truth as they were so used to manipulating men?"

Nikki suddenly got up, put her hands in her jeans pockets, walked restlessly around, her face tight. Helen was alarmed, realising too late that her search for the truth had hit upon a sensitive subject. Finally her body suddenly relaxed, much to Helen's relief. It was generally true so face up to it, woman, she thought as she took her seat again.

"Where in hell did you pick that up from? Barbara? Oh well, she's right. I did mouth off that load of bollocks about you in one of my stupidly paranoid moments."

"Sweetheart, I want to run with this one as there's something in it. That's why I found it hard to look you in the eye and speak from the heart as you could. It gave me a lot of trouble till the penny dropped. I could flirt with men but I found I really couldn't be friends with them at the same time, the more I got emotionally half-involved if you know what I mean. John's different. Womaniser of the first order though he undoubtedly is, he sees a friendship with us as something new, refreshing and he knows it's good for all of us especially as we all share the same ideals. We all feel safe with each other. Does this all make sense?"

There was a long pause as the three women struggled to internalise such an intense exploration of the human psyche.

"Darling, interesting though this all is, just where does this leave Margaret with what she's been through today?" Nikki asked very gently, acutely aware that while Helen had rattled away splendidly on a subject neither of them had previously cared to explore, their friend needed help with her problems right now.

"Oh help, I think I've run myself off the rails," Helen confessed with visible humour at her own expense." Over to you, darling."

"OK, I see the answer. I suppose one advantage we've had is that we'd left home when we started our journey through life. Helen left Scotland when she started her career. My parents disowned me when my lesbian activities at boarding school got me expelled. You and Victoria grew up in your hometown. Let's face it, I can't get my head around finally learning something about myself so fundamental about myself, it might be my sexuality, it might be my politics, whatever. I suppose that a traditional upbringing can make you feel very certain about everything- take Bodybag for instance. To me it's the kiss of death. It's like a swamp that can drag you right down so you end up thinking like everyone else and forgetting that you once felt differently. If you work at it long enough, I suppose you can con yourself into believing someone else's book of proverbs and keep spouting them all the time…."

"Like Bodybag," Helen exclaimed with a wicked grin on her face and Margaret followed suit.

"The thing I wonder is that if in the midnight hours some of them wake up and realize for one split second just what they've done with their lives and hate every minute what they've done before suppressing that thought…"

"Whereas you're the brave one, Margaret. You did the right price to pay can be isolation and heartbreak but the upside is unbelievably liberating and positiveJust being the person you want to be is something precious beyond anything else in life. Would you really have wanted to live your life in any other way?"

There at last, they had all finally got there and climbed to the top of the mountain. Margaret nodded her head very emphatically, being so full of emotion that she couldn't could find it in her heart now to feel infinitely and compassionately sorry for Victoria, for what they had once shared and she had lost. The sun came out and bathed them with radiance and finally Margaret felt whole again, her faith restored and she could make sense of her life. Her friends could read Margaret's emotions which were written on her face for all to see.


	46. Chapter 46

**Scene Forty-Six**

If Elaine had one remaining concern in her erratic journey in 'coming out', it was about how her work colleagues saw her. More than ever before, she felt work identity begin to press down on her, the closer that she got to the thick glass double doors and , at reception, the young woman with blond glossy hair and the perfect smile.

Everything had hung on Elaine quietly obtained control of the running of the conference after secretly slipping a copy of it to Rita and being tipped off as to its significance. She got her hands on it very discreetly, thanks to the dynamics of office politics.

"So, ladies, I want to talk briefly about this contract from Her Majesty's Government for the 'Imprisonment and Modernisation' seminar before we turn to something more exciting," Elaine's young go getting boss declared proudly at their monthly meeting," I think this is something which we should leave to someone who likes careful methodical work. There's zero pizzazz and definitely no visual displays about it, just fix up the hall and organize the attendance register. The only extra is to weed out any troublemakers who, of course, will be paid up members of the Troublemaker's Union. Between you and me, it's something that the local vicar could handle without too much trouble. There is no penalty clause, which means that there is plenty of money for the firm and little risks, even if it does go pear shaped. Someone who fancies solid, methodical work is best up for it."

The man was in his middle thirties with short-cropped brown hair, smart gleaming suit and tie, smooth skin and white, even teeth. He had been on the up to the minute courses training him in leadership and facilitating skills and saw himself as one of the 'up and comers' in the organization. He looked around at all the smart and presentable young women who were the 'go getters of the future' and then skipped past Elaine. To all intents and purpose, she was the eternal spinster who was married to her job. True to form, her desk was typically arranged neatly with a picture of some middle aged blond woman who was equally well past her sell-by date. True, it was advisable to pay lip service to her old fashioned thoroughness but really, no one knew anything about her private life. To all intents and purpose, she had none. She was the obvious candidate whereas a Party Political Conference demanded someone with more presentation skills, which wasn't up dear old Elaine's street.

"I'll take it on if no one else is interested," she murmured softly with downcast eyes, hoping against hope her real feelings wouldn't be discovered.

"That's the spirit, Elaine. I knew I could depend on you." oozed the man with much false sincerity before rapidly turning to a much more attractive matter." I'll let you have all the paperwork before we turn to a particularly exciting development……………."

At that point, Elaine switched off most of her mind and let the rest of them blether on. A lot of what was said wasn't to do with the matter in hand but to project their sense of self-importance. By her time in life, she had learnt how to insulate herself against the absurdities in life. All she wanted was to get her hands on the paperwork and get down to business.

A couple of hours later, her boss came over to her desk with the necessary information folder and leaned on her desk.

"This looks pretty self explanatory to me," the man suggested which rang warning bells in Elaine's mind." You'll come across the instructions about certain organizations, which are to be excluded from the conference, you know, the usual lunatic fringe. The government doesn't want any trouble here, just a nice smoothly run event."

"So all I have to watch out is for the organizations that the applicants say they belong to?" Elaine asked with the most innocent expression on her face." Is there anything else special about the conference?"

"That's pretty well it, Elaine," her boss said carelessly." You'll find the rest of it easy with your experience…….by the way, I hope you don't mind me asking but just who is that woman in the photograph?"

"That's Rita Cooper. She works as a PA to a High Court Judge. I live with her," Elaine

explained.

"Indeed?" he replied, visibly losing interest." I suppose in these expensive times that two women can live cheaper than being on your own."

"I suppose you're right," Elaine said politely. At that moment, a split second impression came into her mind of the night after she and Rita come home from 'Chix.' Her beloved Rita lay below her, arms stretched outwards, reaching for her an expression of rapture on her face. Elaine knew very well why that should be the case as her finger was eagerly pressing inside her against the rhythm of the hips of her beloved. A secret smile spread across her face at the memory of the intensity of their feelings. Somehow, both of them had become more sexually alive since they'd become more open as to who they were. She marvelled how she had banished her greatest fear of what the neighbours thought of her. If she was only strong in herself, there was really nothing to fear.

"Right then, you're obviously happy to do this job so I've leave you to it. I'll send you the enabling e mail to make the necessary arrangements."

A steady pulse of electricity flowed through her, as she sat quietly behind her computer, knowing that the conference at 'Chix' had laid its plans. First, she studied the notes that her boss had directed her attention to. She would have laughed out loud if it weren't the fact that her open plan office was so public. All her dangerous friends neatly slipped their way through the guidelines, even Helen who worked at the Criminal Cases Review Commission and Nikki who worked for the Howard League of Penal Reform. She knew of the ideal Victorian hall with a number of suitable side rooms and she called up her list of organizations to publicize the event. Her neat organized mind started to work straightaway.

When her work was done as far as she could do it for the moment, Elaine broke off from her work to enjoy a much-needed cup of coffee. She turned away from the computer screen and and marvelled at how her boss and everyone else kept missing the point about her. Just how many ways was there of saying that she lived in a lesbian relationship with Rita Cooper but then again, why should she bother? The trouble was that she didn't look gay enough, she thought to herself and laughed at the absurdity of the idea. What wasn't a problem with her these days was in feeling lonely and isolated. A warm feeling spread through her at the thought of her newfound friends somewhere out there. They knew the simple truth which cut through all the falseness and that was to simply accept her as she was.

"I've done it," Elaine exclaimed in exaltation as Rita opened the front door that evening as she came home from work a little later than normal." I've got my hands on the 'Imprisonment and Modernisation' conference arrangements. All the adverts will be out the day after tomorrew."She eagerly flung her arms round Rita, and gave her a long enthusiastic kiss on her lips. Both women were oblivious to the fact that Elaine had carelessly left the front door was still left half open. That would never have happened at one time.

Coope had had a difficult afternoon in finally prizing open a case for John from the recalcitrant listings officer who she suspected had a direct line to Lawrence James. She had been feeling a little weary but her lover's clear enthusiasm rejuvenated her.

"I'll make us a nice cup of tea, dear so you sit back, tell me all about it we can take it easy."

"On the settee?" Elaine enquired in a soft voice.

"What better place to talk?" answered Rita in her silkiest tone of voice.

Rita's blouse was still partly unbuttoned when she picked up the phone to call Trisha when pleasure had given way to duty, which could afford to wait until now. She was the obvious person who had all the phone contact details.

"Trisha, it's Rita. I thought I'd let you know that the balloon is going up in the next few days….,"came the calm voice down the phone with just a hint of suppressed excitement.

"I'm sorry, Rita but I don't understand," Trisha said in puzzled tones, not being aware of the wartime slang expression that would have been familiar to Margaret and Julia. She was at the further disadvantage of in the middle of getting dressed with Sally Anne for another evening at Chix.

"I mean that the advert will be placed in the next few days for the 'Imprisonment and Modernisation' seminar that we'd all agreed to subvert. We need to get in our applications and, thankfully, Elaine is handling the arrangements."

"Oh sure, I remember now. I'll let the ladies know myself," Trisha answered in vague tones. She instantly filed the snippet of information to act upon straightaway. After that, she had a club night to organize.

As Rita and Elaine sat back after a somewhat delayed evening meal, they both found that their life had veered away from its comfortable, predictable but emotionally stifling treadmill into a much riskier, stimulating and less lonely path, quite apart from Coope's daytime job in looking after the judge's business. It was one where both women looked quizzically at each other as they sat back in the evening and felt good about themselves.

*********

What Margaret didn't fully realise was that everything she had said about herself didn't remain confined to whatever she told her friends. The soiree had really started everything and now Rita and Elaine became regulars at Chix and found the freedom to dance the night away. The range of music they encountered alternately moved them emotionally or made their bodies sway unconsciously to the rhythms.

On this particular night after everyone had sent in their application forms in, they were in search of intimate conversations so they gravitated up to the VIP room above the dance floor. Both women smiled at the delicious irony of the fact that, while they were relegated to a subsidiary role in their daytime job, they had the free run of this room as their human qualities had been so very well demonstrated. What they found in their conversations with any of their friends how much Margaret had truly impressed them and what they had heard was faithfully relayed to them.

"So we really do have a history we can relate to through Margaret?" Elaine enquired, her interest engaged. As far as she knew, she had grown up differently so that she could not be what she was expected to be. She had made the initial compromise with expectations laid on her by getting a respectable job and leading a respectable lifestyle, which had led her into the trap she had only recently escaped from.

"In one sense, she is a very reliable history guide," smiled Jenny, Claire's partner, at the strange abstract conception that was conjured up by this very pleasant woman. Though she was clearly finding her feet comparatively late in her life, her very engaging motto was 'better late than never.' "The only difference is that you don't find a history books which is very audaciously still here in the present. Something tells me that she'll be very dangerous at this conference if I get the ringside seat."

"I'll see to that all right. After all, you don't belong to a subversive organization," joked Elaine, accompanied by Rita's laughter and also by a squeeze of her hand.

It was a day or so later that John heard everything told to them by Coope and was similarly reassured.


	47. Chapter 47

**Scene Forty Seven**

After the initial good news, the week crawled along eternally and worries started to creep in amongst all the company, spread out as they were. No one wanted to be the first to voice the fear that despite all the assurances in perfect good faith, they weren't going to be admitted to the conference after all unless the tickets were in their hands. It was all too easy to believe that dark, omniscient forces were at work, that had spotted their transparent manoeuvres and would put a stop to their schemes. Everything seemed too easy. Surely, the organizers couldn't be that stupid, could they?

John went away for the weekend with his latest conquest to take his mind off the task in hand. Helen was the first to suggest to Nikki that they ought not to sweat it out on their own but head off to Margaret's. There was no clearly defined plan at work but each individually sensed that a purpose to their gathering would inevitably evolve.

Sure enough, each of them smiled shyly at each other as if they should be embarrassed at being there. After they took it easy with the by now traditional cup of tea, each of them looked nervously at what should happen next.

"Do you want to hear more of my stories?" Margaret suggested, feeling the tension radiate off all of them despite their verbal protestations of it being good to see each other. Margaret thought she might as well take the lead in this matter as anyone. As her friends looked around with a sense of uncertainty, Margaret elaborated on the matter. "Some of my holiday experiences in Greece in the sixties with Julia come to my mind."

"I swear that whenever I visit my parents, my father insists on showing me his holiday snaps so I instantly regret my duty call," laughed Trisha shakily to be greeted by an eager flurry of nervous laughter.

"Ah but, Margaret telling us of international lesbianism is a different kettle of fish," joked Helen.

"Darling, it's a different bloody kitchen," retorted Nikki in her flat ironic tones.

"You know we love your stories Margaret," Sally openly pleaded."Let's switch on the time machine and get travelling." With that familiar sensation, they let themselves be transported through time and space once again.

***********

Both women were at their most buoyant as they contemplated their holiday outfits with pleasure. They had swanned up to the West End and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Julia had bought a salmon pink swimming costume that set off her fair hair to perfection and lightweight, loose fitting white trousers and a wide straw hat to shelter her face from the fierce rays of the sun. Margaret had indulged herself with a couple of bright patterned flowing dresses that reflected her lightness of spirit. Best of all, the Paris holiday had started off a correspondence with their newfound friends from the salon. Julia examined the letter with great satisfaction.

"Natalie has been such a darling," Julia gushed in particularly good spirits referring to their artist and socialite friend, Natalie Barnay. "After all, what is the point in going to a sunnier climate if it is just as repressive and lonely as England? She's arranged for two of her friends to let us stay in their villa on the strict condition that we have to call in on our flight back and make the Friday afternoon salon. She's given us their names and addresses and directions how to get there."

"Will we have enough space to take back souvenirs?" Margaret suggested nervously, glancing at the clothes already draped across their bed.

"Darling, when it comes to packing, where there's a will, there's a way. You wait and see," Julia said with perfect aplomb. She looked at her partner and knew by her silence that Margaret was at best, half convinced. Come to think of it, even she had niggling doubts. As she gazed at their new purchases, she was already starting to rethink her position.

"I've got the perfect answer. You're perfectly right. You know what I'm like when I'm in the mood. If I can spend all this money on clothes in a country which I grew up, can you really see me exercising restraint under romantic Greek skies? Why don't we politely send a telegram asking Natalie's friend if she could possibly obtain a spare suitcase in advance, just in case?"

Margaret looked at the very appealing little smile on Julia's lips and groaned inwardly to herself that she'd walked right into this one.

"All right, sweetheart, I'll word a suitably written telegram and get it sent off," she replied in patient tones, her mind already starting to compose phrases. Julia's face lit up at her reply and her arms reached out to her and enfolded her very understanding lover in her arms and kissed her deeply. It was at moments like these that Margaret breathed in the genuine love an affection that had drawn her down to London as she felt physically supported by lover's strong arms around her. In the blissful, timeless moments when she kissed her lover back, she reflected how much a part of her existence Julia had become over time and how she couldn't imagine life without it.

To their great surprise, a return telegram arrived very promptly. Margaret picket it up off the circular rug on which it had fallen. She had been a little apprehensive as to how their French 'friend of a friend' would respond to their presumptuousness, however politely phrased. She examined it and a wicked smile spread across her face as she read it. Even the crisply typed dry capital letters couldn't conceal the witticism at their expense and the real thoughtfulness of their host to be. It was a good omen for their holiday.

.

'Have already bought you a spare suitcase. Natalie knows what you are both like.'

Margaret laughed out loud and shouted out eagerly to Julia to come downstairs. She couldn't wait to see her face for her reaction. She was not disappointed at seeing Julia blush prettily for the first time in her life. A little while later, she saw the humour of the situation and laughed out loudly.

**********

Their first impressions of Greece stayed with them forever. The brilliant blue sky and the fierceness of the sunshine combined with the intensely dry heat. A final ingredient was the dust kicked up by the ancient Fiat that rattled its way along the roughly carved out narrow road that wound them round the parched countryside and past deep blue waters of the Mediterranean. Finally, the Greek driver, whose broken English revealed the unmistakable names of their hosts Adrienne and Jeanne took them up the short drive to their destination and switched off the engine. The two women looked with interest at the distinctive white painted bungalow, green shuttered windows and wide welcoming verandah with comfortable easy chairs. It did not suggest a typically Greek residence (whatever that was) but possessed its own unique identity. That appealed to them immediately Suddenly, a dark haired woman, with a deeply suntanned face, bright hazel eyes and a vivacious manner swept out enthusiastically to greet them She briefly thanked the driver, peeling off some notes to pay for his efforts who drove off back down the drive. She embraced them each in turn and kissed them several times on each cheek before finally greeting them rapidly in French.

"Ah, you are the famous English lesbian couple come to stay. What good fortune it is that you stay at my villa. Jeanne is in the kitchen cooking a meal for us all."

Both women's expressions were a picture that they could each read so vividly on each other's face. It was a classic case of British self-deprecation at work. They secretly knew that they were a bit out of the ordinary and confident in defying convention but really, it wasn't done to blow one's own trumpet or even to have it blown for one. What really amused them intensely at their own expense was, here they were, two women who had just turned forty who had spent their lifetime kicking vigorously against the stifling stereotypes of their upbringing suddenly reverting to national stereotype in the bigger picture.

"It really is good of you to both put us up like this. We're all for experiencing a different culture but we really do appreciate, how do you say it?" Julia replied, summoning up their hastily refreshed French and stumbling to find the right words both in French and in feelings.

"This Greek colony of the Paris salon," finished the woman who must be Jeanne as she spoke over Adrienne's shoulder. She wore a red bandana round her forehead and a three quarter length flowing skirt.

"Precisely. Here we are international," Adrienne replied with a theatrical flourish, revealing to their guests how perfectly their thoughts meshed. They were beginning to ease themselves into this new milieu, even allowing for the tiredness of their journey and their already long day.

"So long as we all talk in French," interjected Julia with a mischievous grin, sparking amusement from their guests. The sun shone down on her white outfit and fair hair, making her all the more attractive for that.

"But of course," Adrienne replied, the more direct of the two women facing them.

"As it does take us out of ourselves. We British have to be constantly reminded that the world doesn't circle round its coastline," put in Margaret jokingly.

It wasn't just the sun that illuminated the scene in its bold positive primary colours, and contrasting black shadows. They felt good in themselves, having demonstrably passed the unspoken test of entrance by the way their two hosts voluntarily heaved their luggage into the house. As soon as they climbed up the three steps into the verandah area, the feel of this house felt like home to them, especially the interesting cooking smells wafting their way from the kitchen. They were led through to a very homely and friendly spare bedroom, complete with slatted wardrobe doors. Used as they were to domestic spaciousness, this contraction to a small functional space promised to be an interesting experiment.

"Lovely comfortable bed, and that's the most important part of home from home," exclaimed Julia with a wicked grin on her face, patting the space next to her. The stark simplicity of the boldly patterned cover contrasted with their traditional sheets, blankets and pillows. Finally, they sat down round a rough pine table to be served pizza and Greek salad. It tasted intriguingly exotic and therefore delicious, flavoured by the smoky candlelit ambiance and washed down with a glass of red wine. The full flavours of the Mediterranean contrasted intriguingly with fresh tastes used to English temperate climates.

"So what drinks do you dangerous women enjoy?" teased Adrienne after they sat back and relaxed, plates pushed to one side.

"We love cocktails in various lethal combinations," Julia retorted, rising automatically to the challenge,"but the whole point of coming to a different country….."

"….is not to bring your roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with you," Jeanne finished for her.

"So you decide what we'll drink," Margaret interjected pertly, neatly resolving the circular clash of wits.

With a broad grin, Adrienne fished four small glasses from a wooden side cupboard and poured a strange looking liquid which attracted questioning looks from the two Englishwomen.

"This drink is called ouzo, the Greek national drink. It tastes like aniseed but it makes sense in this climate."

"So long as it isn't absinthe," joked Julia nervously." Just look at what it did for Toulouse Lautrec."

"Just drink up, darling, and don't worry," coaxed Margaret to accompaniment of pleased grins of their hosts. They found it tasted exactly as promised, only it was very strong. The second drink started to make more sense as the four women chatted and laughed the evening away. The room gently swayed in the gentle flickering lights, which cast a mysteriously warm glow, inside and outside their bodies. Without ceremony, the sun suddenly sank below the parched, jagged etched horizon outside the window.

It was only at nighttime when Margaret and Julia later found themselves in bed by a process that they couldn't remember when they overheard sweet whispered French words insinuating through the adjoining wall. The sounds that followed were more familiar, more universal. Julia saw a gleam of interest in her lover's eyes as her lips kissed her bare shoulder. Julia didn't respond immediately.

"Darling, don't tell me you're too tired out by the journey .I always thought that was impossible."

Julia could never resist those cajoling tones. Temporarily banishing away her cloudy dreamlike state, her body shuffled round to slip into her lover's arms, to accommodate her as they had so many times before.

*******

"Do you think our two friends will get the hint?" gasped Jeanne as her lover had coaxed her to her climax." I mean I thought Englishwomen are supposed to be reserved."

"Not these two English daredevils," laughed Adrienne at the absurdity of the proposition, as she moved her head to rest on her lover's stomach and savoured the familiar delicious taste on her tongue." The sounds of two women sweet talking each other are universal."

The murmurous sounds which gradually increased in intensity and the creaking sounds of the bed next door reminded Adrienne of her own free flowing feelings of desires that were starting to rise up inside her. At the back of her mind, she couldn't help but smile at the way their new friends gave them such wicked ideas and promised to be such good fun.


	48. Chapter 48

**Scene Forty-Eight**

Intuition finally slipped its way through the hazy senses of the two half sleeping guests. It hinted to them that Adrienne and Jeanne were very relaxed in their habits with nothing of the stiffness and formality of the English country house about them. The idea of a gong being rung to summon one and all for breakfast struck them as absurd. Finally, they showered and dragged their half-awake bodies to the source of the sounds which appeared to be the front of the house. As Julia pushed the door open, a blinding shaft of light smote her eyes followed by a riot of colourful sensations. Of course, the morning social scene was on the verandah.

Both women took in the pleasant shaded area and the comfortable easy chairs arranged sociably in a semi-circle, the bookcase in the corner and the round seasoned wood coffee table with bright patterned mugs, teapot and sugar bowl carelessly arranged. They looked out onto what passed for their front garden, the dust path that curled up to the front steps and the rickety garage on their near left. Most of all, Adrienne and Jeanne kissed and hugged them enthusiastically.

"Did you both have a good night sleep last night? You know how a strange bed and strange country can affect you," Adrienne addressed them, a smirk lurking at the corners of her lips.

"We might have found it harder to sleep if you two minxes hadn't given us such interesting ideas," Julia retorted, grinning unashamedly.

Jeanne smiled and poured them two mugs of tea and passed them a silver toast rack. It was jammed with thick slices, jam and butter, already getting soft in the quickly building heat of the day. The four women ate their fill in a leisurely fashion in the peace and the quiet.

"Had you got any particular plans for your holiday? You know that regrettably Adrienne and I will have to go to work tomorrow."

Just for a second, the heat of the day faded away as did the warm smiles on Adrienne and Jeanne's faces. Their audience knew it was up to them to find the right words in response to this mixture of personal regret and generous consideration. It was Julia who stepped up to the mark.

"We know we can't expect your life to stop dead for us. While we have the weekend, let's enjoy the present together."

By the pleased smiles on their hosts' faces, the answer did the trick. Adrienne's lively mind was soon mischievously at work.

"So have you two ever been accused of being typical Englishwomen?"

Margaret silently considered this question for a few minutes. She realized that she'd come a long way since her provincial origins. She felt pretty well self-educated, having followed an uncertain trail wherever instinct and intuition led her and in conjunction with the highly individualistic Julia Desmond. All she knew was that following her nose felt far more comfortable than following rules and regulations. The standards of repartee were as high here as of the Paris salon.

"I'm really not sure I'm a typical anything. Julia was always an aristocratic rebel."

The lazily uttered words hung easily in the heat of the day. Julia reached for a tube of Ambre Solaire and then for the shade of her hat. Already, the limited exposure to the fierce heat was starting to burn the fair skin on her forearms.

********

"We have to dress up like stereotypes of Parisian women to work for the French embassy," Adrienne explained when they made a brief appearance on Monday morning, dressed in identical neat beige skirts, white blouses. It was understood that they had free reign over the house in their absence after the Sunday when their hosts had driven them around and had given them their first mental purchase on their surroundings. The day had passed in a hot delirious dream

"My boss has this grand illusion that Parisian men are the best lovers," Jeanne exclaimed with a gesture of contempt." He's still trying to work out why he's not getting anywhere with me. Everything he thinks is all in his head. He still wonders why Adrienne and I are 'such good friends.'"

So this was their accommodation to the system, their two friends mused sympathetically, their way of getting along in this world. It explained their effusive welcome.

Soon they were out on the road in a spare battered looking grey Fiat, Julia struggling to 'get used to the wrong side of the road.' Both women wound the car windows down and let the generated winds flutter through their lightweight clothes. Julia was denied the chance to take in the breathtaking scenery as much as she wanted and relied on her lover's excited commentary as they finally bounced along the uneven mountainous roads all the way to the Temple of Delphi. She would have liked to have gazed with awe at the range of ancient rolling sun-baked mountain ranges, but someone had to keep an eye on the road. She made a mental note that it was time that her beloved tested her daring spirits in getting behind the wheel on the way home.

She got her just reward when they were perched halfway up the mountainside and standing at the top of the world's oldest theatre, the huge semicircular open air auditorium with its stone row of seats stacked dizzyingly downwards towards the stone flagged stage and onwards down into the valley. Margaret couldn't help thinking that performing in front of some imagined audience would satisfy even their own-shared theatricality. This vivid flash of imagery was the first of the succession of inerasable mental picture postcards along with the way that the sun had heated the stones that their bare feet were treading. When they entered the portals and took in the delicately carved statues, it was then that they felt a conduit to their past. Was it, in some alternative universe that they were studying a delicate marble statue, not of the Greek god Apollo, but in their mind's eye, that of Sappho? In the heat and dazzling sunshine of that day, they couldn't be sure either way.

*********

"Have you sent your telegram to Natalie?" asked Adrienne, trying to keep her spirits up, knowing that their mutual friend's gain in their company would soon be their loss. Already she felt the pain of impending separation from them.

They had spent the last day swimming in the beautiful cool waters and lying stretched out on the beach, the feel of the soft sand underneath them. Lying on her side and looking through her sunglasses, Margaret drank in Julia's beauty as she lay on her back, her arms and legs soaking up the deepening suntan, which contrasted with her pink swimming costume. She could stare lustfully at her partner as much as she liked for who could read the expression in her eyes through her sunglasses? In the evening when their hosts had come home from work, they had passed the time, laughing and drinking wine and Jeanne had overcome her basic shyness in finally producing her bouzouki out of her closet and sparking strange twanging rhythms to enter the room and weave its magic round them. Already, the vivid images were starting to be consigned to their mental scrapbook, against their will.

"The precise words were.'Your charming and loving friends are ours also. We wouldn't miss your salon for the world.'

"We thought that we'd fill up your suitcases with these two figurines," Jeanne said in her more practical fashion while Adrienne reacted emotionally to their friends' kind words. "If you place them in your mansion somewhere conspicuous, just think of us with affection."

The figurines were exquisitely shaped representations of feminine beauty in a classical vein. They certainly commanded the eye. The two women gasped with astonishment at the generosity of their friends. Surely it should be the other way round and that they owed them so much for their company in a strange land.

"Nonsense, Julia. You would do the same for us if we came to visit you," spoke Jeanne, almost brusquely dismissing their gratitude. It was her way of dealing with a painful situation. It was with emotions running high that the two couples finally said their farewells.

"When you see Natalie, give her a kiss from me," Adrienne said, her emotions barely restrained as she drew firstly Margaret and then Julia into a long embrace as did Jeanne before distance and time gradually diminished their figures into nothingness.

************

When they finally entered the front door of 20 Rue Jacob, Paris, they felt as if they had only just rejoined the same salon that they had left a few years before. The idea was to spend a weekend stopover, taking in the Friday afternoon salon on the way back to England. Everyone was that little bit older but othrwise unchanged as, indeed, so were they. This time, everyone greeted them enthusiastically and bombarded them with questions about how their dear friends were managing in far-off Greece. To those casually drinking tea in the half light, their two English friends looked golden and suntanned as they slipped into what they saw as the ultiate female academy. In a second, they felt whole as they realised how many mutual friends were looking forward to seeing Adrienne and Jeanne once again pass through these doors.

"Come into my back garden," Natalie said as she linked each arm round Mararet's and Julia's as they strolled through the large, overgrown garden. As they spotted the Doric "Temple of Friendship" which was tucked into one corner, they exclaimed with joy and delight as a piece of ancient Greek culture had been magically transplanted back into France. It helped restore their spirits

********

'There were times when we were always leaving or travelling or arriving,' mused Margaret to herself as part of her floated back and forth through time. She didn't know just how they had got to travelling across the endless flat plains of America on one of their interstate bypasses.'

'We are dying to meet you again. You don't know how much we've missed you,' or so said the stiff typed capital letters of the telegram that Margaret held in her hand. Both women knew there was more to this than met the eye,

They were driving a Chevrolet that was built during the previous decade and it would have drunk its way through their money if petrol weren't so ridiculously cheap. The other difference between this wide open spaces were like nothing they'd ever seen in their lives. The longest drive in England that had moved them through real distances, relatively speaking. In this country, it felt as if they were an insignificant spider crawling along a surface as wide as an English county. An endless stream of gas stations flashed past as Margaret peered at her map to check again. Inevitably, they switched on the radio and the song that kept revolving round and round in their heads was the cheaply hypnotic song 'Twenty Four Hours from Tulsa' which gave the same feeling as forever traveling and never arriving as they felt right then. The only real difference that they noticed was the slow remorseless way that the sun crawled in its arc round the sky. It was only when the sun shone its beams into their eyes when Margaret pointed out to Julia's numbed brain to pull off the freeway at the approaching sign. It was finally when they came up to a white painted clapboard clad house when the engine was at last silenced.

"Margaret, Julia," exclaimed a more sunburned and tired out version of their old friends as they greeted them very emotionally. They were ushered in as if they were treading on the proverbial red carpet. One look at the house told the two women that this had a temporary feel about it, a million miles away from their old London studio. The first exchange of words about their fortunes didn't reveal how they were making a living. They didn't pursue the matter.

"Thank God we found each other," Virginia wheezed with a hacking cough which worried her friends." Well, we thought we'd head out West and get a taste of wide-open spaces without the tiresome necessity of learning a new language. Well, all we found was how lonely and isolated we could feel in mid America as we felt back in dear old London. Nothing feels permanent. Even this house is rented."

"What about Greenwich Village in New York? Natalie Barney told us that you need to head where life is Bohemian. It goes back a long way and was the jumping off point for where American expatriates in Paris before the war," Julia urged gently.

"At least where we live, you can send and receive telegrams here. God knows how you tracked us down. There's everything in this country you can order any time of the day or night…..except true friendships," and here tears squeezed themselves out of Virginia's tight shut eyes while her partner tried to silently comfort her as if she'd run out of words with which to help. They dodged answering Julia's question as if the idea had simply not occurred to them.

"We were walking near Washington Square," said Margaret in a soft reflective tone of voice delicately bringing them back to Julia's point."We saw this thin young man with curly hair and untidy jacket walking down the street with this Bohemian woman with wild untamed blond hair falling over her shoulders. They were typical of these nice young people we met, the strangest looking people you could ever hope to find. We felt relaxed around there, even confident enough to hold hands. After all, how strange did two middle aged English ladies look amongst these nicely eccentric people?"

"The point being?" Virginia retorted with a trace of her old fire, which her friends found reassuring.

"You either go there to save your sanity or move to Paris. I'll put in a word with Natalie and her friends. All you've got to do is to learn French. It can't be any worse than living here. We'll help you move."

Their two friends shoulders slumped in an expression of defeat. In reality, they were grasping hold of the lifeline thrown out to them. The harsh light from the single electric light bulb hanging above them from the cracked ceiling cruelly illuminated their ill fortune.

********

Outside in the shadows as the sun had gone down, as Margaret's newfound friends watched on, they all watched on with a profound sense of pity that bled on the ground. They'd all found friends who had fallen on bad times. Margaret's stories had had the profound effect of putting their silly fears in proportion. They all smiled thankfully at the white-haired much-travelled woman.


	49. Chapter 49

**Scene Forty-Nine **

After a period of furious activity, Elaine took satisfaction from the thought that the basics of her work on the 'Imprisonment and Modernization' conference project was nearly complete. Her old fashioned meticulousness had served her well in making the necessary arrangements for the venue. Her approach meant that she didn't think that the invention of the e-mail superceded all other forms of communication but also included picking up the phone. She had no problems in speaking directly to the person she was dealing, to anticipate any potential misunderstandings. Even in this modern age of mass uniformity, the proliferation of modern conference halls didn't exclude old fashioned town hall buildings and the Central Methodist Hall which were all individual. The most essential fact in her life was that each party had faith in the other and that the bill for the conference center would be paid on time. She ignored the more shallow minded people who she worked with and was simply confident in her own individual style. She was a human being and not an anonymous name on an e mail contact list. As she drank a cup of tea as her efforts were finally completed, she was satisfied with the thought of a job well done.

The other matter was the applications for the conference itself. She carefully posted out the letters of acceptance herself and lovingly noted that each and every one of her friend's letters was faithfully issued. As for the others, she approached the job in a professional enough spirit. She mused over the details of the application but they meant nothing to her. Finally, when the arrangements were wrapped up, she was hoping that she would get some acknowledgement of the hard work she had put in but wasn't greatly surprised that none was forthcoming. What it did mean was that this lack of appreciation wasn't going to make her emotionally fall on her sword as she might have felt at one time. She shrugged her shoulders and saw her Rita smile approvingly at her from her photograph on her desk. Besides her newfound circle of friends, that was good enough validation for her existence, or so she reasoned.

"So everything went like clockwork?" her boss asked casually, looking all around him for who next to socialize with. She got monosyllables while others got long intimate conversations. These days, it didn't bother her one bit.

"Everything went fine. Everything's all wrapped up."

"Good, Elaine. The office revolves round people as dependable as you. Anyway, I have to go. Things to do, people to see," came the automatic reply.

Which means that I can slog along for the rest of my days and get nowhere, Elaine concluded rightly. See if I care, she thought, the job isn't my life, she thought with half a day left until she was back in the arms of her beloved.

*********

Sure enough, the letters dropped through the letterbox as planned. John grinned widely as he ripped open his letter of invitation. Despite the plans they'd all laid, he had remained sneakingly wary, thinking that somehow or other, his enemies would somehow block his application. The closer it got to the conference without the letter, the more vulnerable he felt. He danced round the room and immediately picked up the phone to talk to Nikki and Helen.

"We've got our letters this morning John. God bless Elaine," Nikki said very cheerfully." As we speak, Helen is mentally working out the most vitriolic scathing comments she can devise about the 'hang them and flog them' brigade. When she shot her mouth off last time around, it was out of impulse and desperation in getting me sprung out of Larkhall. This time, she's researching what she's going to say."

"Hi judge," Helen's carrying voice sounded clearly from the background

"Believe you me, it makes me happy to have such dear friends that I can depend on," John replied, a tremor of emotion shaking his voice. The feeling of certain support from these rock solid women with that intensity of caring suddenly sprang intohis consciousness from nowhere. For a second, he was slightly embarrassed until reason pointed him in the right direction.

"Judge, we strongly believe in never making promises that we don't deliver on. Besides, Helen had all the fun last time and I'm jealous," Nikki replied with her unique mixture of light heartedness and earnestness. John believed every thought they uttered.

When John came off the phone, he felt as blissfully centred as he had ever felt in his life.

Sally Anne was the first to pick up the mail at midday after their late night at Chix. She had slung on a loose T-shirt while Trisha lay on her back, naked and bleary eyed.

"Don't say it, babes, the usual bills," she called out to her partner who she could hear padding back to their bed.

"As a complete change sweetheart, we've been accepted for the 'Imprisonment and Modernization' seminar we volunteered for. It gives all the arrangement details," Sally Anne answered enthusiastically." Oh yes, the rest is the normal junk mail. No bill amongst them."

"Oh God, so we did," sighed Trisha." I must have been pissed to volunteer for this. Somehow it seems different in the cold light of day. Come back to bed and give me a cuddle."

"You can't back out now. We promised. Just think of the others," urged Sally Anne relentlessly into her lover's ear after she pulled off her T-shirt and slid her arms round her.

"But Nikki's so militant. I swear to God her grandmother was one of the suffragettes and Helen's just as bad,"

"Then there's John," insisted Sally Anne, planting a line of kisses along the line of Trisha's neck.

"Well, it's all that male testosterone. Plus it's his special area," protested Trisha feebly, sliding her hand along the exquisite lines of her lover's back. Somehow, she wasn't as tired as she had made out earlier on

"Then there's Margaret……and Claire….and Jenny," Sally Anne insisted between long, lingering kisses and she pressed herself up against her lover.

"All I was trying to say is that I couldn't imagine right at this minute going to the conference. I was only trying to wind you up. Anytime is the right time for sex," Trisha said with perfect aplomb as she twisted them around in bed so that she looked down on the delicate beauty of Sally-Anne's face, her normally neatly combed black hair lying on the pillow. The rising flood of desire was running through Trisha. In a mood like this, she was ready for anything.

Both Claire and Jenny were professionals in their chosen fields and were up before the post arrived. They neatly clipped the letters into the file each of them had prepared.

*************

Sir Ianwas watching developmentsconcerning the conference with concern. As time had gone on, he considered that there wasn't much prospect of John Deed expressing himself moderately. It wasn't within his nature to exercise restraint except from the judge's throne and even then, his judgments veered wildly between producing the proverbial bunny out of the hat and the outright maverick. A leopard doesn't change his spots, he sighed to himself over his morning cup of tea. He was more preoccupied with plan C in terms of ensuring that there were enough reliable people at the conference to put forward the right views. He had discovered that Lawrence James opposite number in the Home Office had received helpful suggestions in formulating the ideas for the conference from Neil Grayling, the very ambitious, go getting Governing Governor at Larkhall Prison. He had even used his contacts from the local Mason's lodge to provide suitable people. At the last minute, he had suggested that it was in the best interests of one very experienced prison officer, one Sylvia Hollamby who had splendid 'grass roots' experience of locking up prisoners for a living with the added bonus of her undertaker husband who had once worked for the prison service together with her close friend, one James Fenner who worked at Larkhall Prison. These names had been forwarded to him and, with a sigh of relief he realized that the last minute applications would get there before the deadline. He counted on this expert knowledge to spike Deed's guns very effectively.

**********

All Elaine was initially bothered about the following day were the inevitable 'last minuters' whose applications meant that she had to drag out her file and send out more letters of acceptance. What immediately struck her in the eye was that, one Sylvia Hollamby and her husband, Bobby Hollamby, proclaiming their 'long experience in the prison service' were due to attend. Elaine had heard from both Margaret about her homophobic niece not to mention Nikki and Helen's bad experiences. She also noticed another long serving prison officer by the name of James Fenner. A man by the name of Rochester also caught her eye. She made a mental note to check this with Rita when she got in from work.

***********

To make entirely sure of the matter, Sir Ian had got on to the press department who had planted discreetly arranged stories in both the quality press and the tabloids on the very eve of the conference itself. If he wanted a reaction, he certainly got it. Coope was the first to witness it as John picked up several copies of the national newspaper.

"Just look at the papers, Coope," he shouted while Coope was busy checking the incoming e-mails on his laptop. She immediately clicked off the e-mail she was working on and shut off the computer. This promised to be a lengthy discussion as the copy of the Guardian she'd been reading on the morning train had rung warning bells.

"You mean Sir Ian trying to nobble the conference in advance," she replied in cool, collected tones." I didn't think the Guardian was alone in talking about 'law and order' problems."

"Exactly so," John replied, blinking at the rapidity with which Coope had drawn the same conclusion." If they're trying to be subtle, they're doing the usual bad job of it."

"Are you sure that this isn't the only stroke they'll pull. Judge?" Coope asked in a tone of great concern. "Everything has gone suspiciously easily, even allowing for Elaine's help. Are you sure that you're not all walking into an ambush?"

That perceptive remark brought up John short. It was the same thought that had been niggling away at him. He'd had a recent run of successes but he wasn't blinded by that to forget the years when he'd been the lone voice crying in the wilderness.

"That's the very same idea that's crossed my mind but we have to proceed like the actor's faith that 'it will be all right on the night.' You realize that I'll have the privilege in working with some of the smartest, bravest women, I mean people that I've ever known. One of us might stumble but I have to believe that we won't all fall. Well, that's my thoughts anyway. We can only prepare so far. Beyond that we can only improvise."

"There's something you need to know, judge. Elaine told me that last minute applications have been parachuted in from Mr. and Mrs Hollamby, former prison officer and serving prison officer at Larkhall Prison and James Fenner, also of Larkhall Prison trouble," Coope said clearly and distinctly.

That bombshell brought John up short and he turned red in the face but remained perfectly silent. Coope began to see that it wasn't his personal feelings that bothered him but the terrifying responsibility of the knowledge that had come his way.

"I have to phone Nikki and Helen. They need to be told now rather than this be dropped on them last minute."

He reached for his mobile and dialled away. Finally, he got hold of Helen, Nikki being unavailable and John spoke in a calm deliberate tone of voice.

"I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time but I've just heard from Coope and in turn from Elaine that last minute attendees for this conference are Mr. and Mrs Bodybag, I mean Hollamby, and one James Fenner."

It was only John's droll slip of the tongue that stopped Helen having a heart attack on the spot. What about Nikki? What about herself? She thought like lightning and pronounced instant judgment.

"We need to get together a half hour before this conference starts and get everyone up to speed and thoroughly prepared, emotionally and logistically. Can we lay hold of a side room in this conference hall without being spotted by the enemy?"

"I'll get onto this and phone you back. If this can be fixed, can you phone round everyone?" John said in deliberately controlled tones.

"Sure judge. I've got all the contacts. God bless Elaine for spotting this," Helen answered before signing off, exhaling some of her sense of relief amongst the emotional shockwaves of this bolt from the blue that were rippling outwards. She clung to the consoling thought that at least John could be relied upon to deliver on his promise.

John made a couple of rapid calls and picked a figure out of his head for the earlier meeting time. Helen promised to get onto it. As he sank back into his armchair with a feeling of relief, he caught Coope's eye.

"At least you've got some intelligent women to keep you out of trouble at this conference," Coope said compassionately, dusting down his robes of office, ready for the morning's trial.

"Are you sure?" grinned John, a twinkle in his eye. Coope shook her head and grinned openly. When she thought of their meeting at Chix, she considered that the array of female daring was certainly a match for John. Somehow, she wasn't worried though logic demanded that she should have been.

"You know, it's a pity that you and Elaine aren't coming to this conference with all the sterling help you've both given?" John added in very solicitous tones." It seems as if you'll both miss all the fun."

"It's lovely of you to think of us judge but Elaine and I are born to work from the sidelines. It's what we're both best at."

This mutual understanding flowed between John and Coope. They had always worked on this basis but it hadn't been spelled out quite like this.

**********

"We've got it," Bodybag called out excitedly to her husband, doing a little jig in the middle of the living room as she got home from work. "We'll show the public what the country needs in the prison system."

"But isn't this just the sort of liberal eyewash that you're always complaining about?" protested her husband who didn't really like the thought of making a spectacle of themselves at some public meeting.

"You need to read between the lines," Bodybag said with a crafty expression on her face." They're not saying it in so many words but this is about a return to good, old fashioned discipline only it's wrapped up in fancy words. You take my word, Bobby but this means goodbye to all the 'prisoner's friend' stuff that Betts is always on about and Stewart before her."

"So how did you hear about this Conference? You never explained this to me."

"Never you mind, Bobby. If we do well, it will be a feather in my cap," Bodybag answered slyly.

"All I can say is that I hope it's worth it. Your job will be covered but I'm going top catch up with all this on the weekend. Time is money, you know," grumbled Bobby.

But what of Margaret? What was happening in her life right now?


	50. Chapter 50

**Scene Fifty**

Helen was not to know but her rapid phone call to Margaret about the slight change in the arrangements sparked off Margaret's fears of what she was to face as it coincided with the very eve of the conference. It was one thing meeting her new friends that had given her the joyful feeling of a sudden visit from any of her them, of driving her car to Nikki and Helen's flat. What she hadn't faced for a long time was the terrifying realization that her all qualities would be severely tested the following day. Of course, she could sit back and let her friends fight it out, hammer and tongs but she knew beyond doubt that it would be a gross betrayal of everything she'd ever stood for. She hadn't been afraid of fighting battles in her past and the last weeks or months had shown her that her faculties were intact. It gradually dawned on her that in crossing swords with her friends in the friendliest of fashion, she was unconsciously readying herself for a more brutal battle and in fact, had become if anything quicker witted than before. She knew she still had a lot to give and this meant that she couldn't hear of standing aside. She remembered the debate with her friends at 'Chix.' She had volunteered to speak. She simply couldn't back down.

Her ingrained honesty made her realize that that there was more to it than the conference itself. She had to accept that this moment was only the convenient trigger to facing the worst set of experiences of her life that had all come together about the same time. She knew beyond doubt that she simply had to face this reality this as a prelude to fighting the battle tomorrow. They all hung together, no matter how frightening that was. She knew also that all her narration of her past experiences had delicately steered her away from facing this.

"All right," she mouthed to herself, resuming a habit of hers," I know you're out there. I've committed myself to fighting the good fight, in confronting some nameless functionary. I've been dragged down by despair for all those months till I found new friends. I'm stronger than I used to be. I'm ready to face you. This is my secret, mine and Julia's."

********

The years had steadily moved onwards ever since Julia and Margaret had started reaching outwards beyond the constricting confines of her own land. As the years went by, more strands of white hair showed on both Julia and Margaret. The first ominous signpost for the future was when the regular Friday afternoon Paris salons started to fizzle out as there were more empty chairs than either woman cared to remember. Of course, there were obvious reasons why the generation of women who came before them started to dwindle but both women were still of the belief that the passage of time would escape their world.

Finally came the first of the series of telegrams, which became the harbingers of bad news. It was on 2 February 1972 that the first slipped through the letterbox. The stiff square capital letters felt edged with doomy black **'**_Terrible tragedy. Must let you know Natalie Barney died suddenly of heart failure._**' **That primal horror blocked out everything. The church service that history recorded them having attended was as if written in the history book. Living memory held no record of that, only their shared grief at the loss of one of their major heroines. Who would they look up to, right now?

The answer came with the next telegram that Violet Trefusis was seriously ill. This time, instinct told them to set straight out abroad again. It didn't matter if they looked a little

dishevelled when they hurtled up the endless flight of steps in the private hospital. As soon as they flew through the swing door and raced up to the hospital bed, they knew they'd done the right thing……

"Don't worry, darlings' Violet Trefusis whispered, her eyes half closed, her lashes almost concealing her well remembered blue saucer eyes as she lay there in the hospital bed. Every breath was an enormous labour of effort for her, let alone one huskily articulated word with what dimming strength there was in her body, yet still she spoke to them. They had had sporadic encounters at Natalie's salon and they sensed Violet's regret that they'd spent too little time together but the last ten years or so weren't for nothing or she wouldn't be speaking to them.

"I can see my beloved Mitya calling me. That's my name for Vita Sackville West. I can see her at the top of a wide, golden-lit staircase. She looks so young, so strong, the way we used to be. Pretty soon, we'll live, as we should have been. Be strong my darlings………….."

These were the last words they heard from their idol who had inspired them so much with daring to live the way they were. She had become their very dear friend. It wasn't the last they heard about her……..

It was a few days after Violet died on 2nd of March 1972 when yet another telegram landed on the doormat. Both Julia and Margaret clutched at each other in a spasm of fear

"_I want to express sincere condolences at the sad news of the death of one of our indomitable fighters for truth, your friend and mine. She always spoke kindly of you. Francois Mitterand."_

"The man was only the leader of the French Socialist Party and President of France from 1981 to 1995," laughed Margaret loudly to herself,"yet he knew Violet the same way we did. I must tell my friends this. I would hate them not to know that we made our mark in this minor way."

The laughter rang cracked and hollow in her living room as it detracted from the journey she must take though she dreaded what she would find. This time, she knew she had no choice. She had to face her demons and somehow survive it.

***********

Violet's death had one positive effect in sparking the two women to consult a solicitor friend of theirs, Michael Freeman. He had set up his own firm in the early nineteen sixties, breaking away from the old fashioned firm that had served the Desmond family. They remembered only too vividly how they had once been humiliated and belittled in their efforts to put the mansion into joint names. Although they had never been happy with the situation that the mansion was in Julia's name only, they had let matters drift on.

They stared open mouthed at Michael's simple and highly wrelcome advice.

"It is the easiest matter for each of you to leave your worldly possessions to each other in the event of one of you…passing away. In fact, the bane of my profession is in unscrambling client's problems whose their provisions have been either badly thought out or where nothing has been provided for. Of course, your mansion can be put into joint names here and now."

"But we were definitely told that it wasn't possible," they both exclaimed in unison and in rising anger.

"Oh, isn't it? You leave it to me and I'll make the necessary arrangements."

They got a delicious feeing as as they proudly signed the documents in thumbing a nose at the man who had badly misused his professionalism for the sake of his power trip. Of course, they saw it as at the time as a sensible precaution, not as something that would become more real as time went on..

Margaret could remember the growing fears in her when she realised that Julia was starting to lose weight and the persistent cough that she couldn't shake off. The timescale had slid forward, as they were poised at the dawn of the new national mood of wonder left them both feeling cold and alienated from the national spectacle.

"Nonsence darling," Julia protested with that familiar wilfulness that Margaret had always admired about her. With a flourish, she reached for her cigarette holder and lit up another cigarette. It was at moments like these that Margaret was torn two ways, in the growing fear for her lover's recklessness and her loving admiration for her. Both women were in their seventies now and the physical and mental strain was starting to tell on Margaret as Julia's health was gradually declining, a cruel inch at a time. Looking back on that period, Margaret never knew how she had restrained her pent up fear and frustration as best she could. At periodic intervals, news came to them of the deaths of their old friends, one by one whose funerals they loyally struggled to attend, sat amongst family members to whom they were emotional strangers.

Finally, came the bitterest blow that Olivia and Virginia, still fortunately together had died in quick sduccession in far-off hurt them most was that Julia's health was too frail for them to travel and that hit hardest at their sense of self worth. Despite all the rational arguments, they should have got there somehow or other. The only crumbs of comfort were the bundle of letters, carefully read and preserved in response to theirs. They were permanent reminders of their friends' life in the Bohemian quarters of Greenwich Village, New York. Amongst the faded papers lingered bittersweet feelings that at least their friends had been admired by the local hippies both for their sense of style and the least they had finally achieved happiness amongst their trials and tribulations.

It was this spark of comfort that finally prompted Margaret to confront her partner over morning tea and toast, placing her knife carefully on her plate.

"You will have to go to the doctor, darling. I insist on it."

There was an ominous pause as , judging by the expression on Julia's drawn face, Margaretr feared that there would be an explosive reply. Neither mentioned the ominous pointing finger of the line of obituary notices.

"Even though I don't believe a word of what you've been saying, if it makes you happy, I'll go."

Margaret flung her arms round Julia's increasingly frail shoulders. She tried not to think about what her hands were telling her. Finally, Margaret could remember the look on Julia's face as she walked with a distinct effort towards her in the little waiting room in the surgery. It told her everything she feared to know.

From then on, her admission to hospital and downwards descent was terrifyingly quick, something that Margaret's mind did not want to wax lyrically in descriptive phrases. The living nightmare was happening, day by day, that's all and she couldn't wake up out of it. Finally, came the day when she phoned desperately for the ambulance and she crouched in the back of the vehicle as they bumped their way towards the hospital, somewhere she'd never been in her life. She remembered waiting ages for the paperwork and for nurses to bustle around and men in long white gowns to stride around. Finally, a kindly nurse ushered her through endless clinically white corridors until she anxiously opened the door to the side ward. She was vaguely aware that she was reenacting her life. Instead of Violet Trefusis, this time it was her Julia, same look, same feel and same conversations. It alarmed Margaret to see how a drip feed was hooked up to her lover's left arm and the array of monitering machinery surrounded her. That and the drawn face of her lover lying helplessly in her bed told her of the seriousnessness of the matter.

"Darling, it looks like we won't be able to go to Gateways tonight," Julia said so faintly pitch that it was difficult for Margaret to hear. It had only the fraction of the vibrancy of her normal tones yet her spirit remained poignantly intact.

"They might not let us in," Margaret replied, trying to play the part, knowing full well that Gateways had closed in 1985, along with so much of their shared past.

"Pass me my drink, darling. A shame it isn't a cocktail,"she gestured with her free hand to the drinking bottle with a straw. She took a few sips as Margaret held it and sank back on her pillow. Her breathing started to become more laboured and somehow Margaret's eye caught the expression on the nurse's face.

"Julia, don't leave me. You're my life," she called out.

"I can see the guiding light welcoming me to the party with all our old friends. Don't worry, darling.I won't disappear as easily as all that," came the very laboured, faintest whisper. A few moments later, Julia's eyes closed forever. It seemed to take an age for the faint rise and fall of her chest to finally fade away. The machines that she was connected to registered the terrifyingly horiziontal line of her pulse

It took even longer for Margaret's horrified mind to connect with the way the doctor intoned the time of death in medical terminology the the truth which, deed down, she knew. It was then that Margaret started to weep and sob uncontrollably as if her heart would break. Looking back on it now, the wonder was that it didn't in that undefined period of blackness that followed, depth and time without measure. It took her a long time to slide out of that black period in her life for that spark of mischief to resurrect itself. One fine day, she went to her bureau drawer and sent her hated niece a postcard version of the portrait of three naked ladies. A smile started to curve itself round her lips at the memory as she could remember the three shapely ladies in the painting as they were and how it brought all her new friends into her life.

"It's bedtime darling. Buck up and get yourself some sleep. You need to be ready for the party tomorrow and to be at your best," said a voice said from out of nowhere. It could only be Julia, spaeking in forceful, persistent tones. Margaret could not only hear her but she felt her magnetic presence as always.

"You know what's going on?" Margaret gasped in astonishment.

"But of course. I've been enjoying every minute of the way you've relived our lives for us. You have been positively brilliant. I can't wait to see our new friends again."

Slowly, Margaret returned to the present and looked at her watch hazily. It was beyond her normal time for bed. The bottle of spirits on the occasional table had shrunk quite drastically. It didn't matter for one night, she thought hazily, so long as she was up early the next morning.

"How could I resist you, darling. I never could," she murmured her affectionate reply.

The image in the photograph with tight blond curls and loose fitting trouser suit smiled back at her. She raised herself to her feet surprisingly easily and made for her bedroom calmly enough to prepare for tomorrow. In finally facing up to the worst part of her life, she was sure she would be in the frame of mind to face this conference.


	51. Chapter 51

**Scene Fifty-One**

It took a lot for Margaret's rarely used alarm clock to rouse her out of her deep slumbers as the traumatic events of the previous night had taken it out of her. Vaguely, she supposed as she lay inert in her bed that she was all cried out. It took a long time before she propped herself up in bed and waited for her eyes to focus on the world. It took her an equally long time to pull herself together and get dressed by degrees. Even then, she wasn't quite ready and was still feeling out of sorts when there came the usual polite knock on the door. Slowly, she made her way towards it.

Helen and Nikki had woken up, an hour earlier than normal and equipped with Helen's neatly set out files, they zoomed over to Margaret's, expecting her usual sprightly manner. They were shocked to find her pale and drawn, looking older than they were accustomed to. They immediately focussed on their friend's troubles.

"Don't say it, darlings, I look awful. I had a bad night when pre conference nerves got me into reliving Julia's death along with those of all my dearest friends. Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well," said Margaret grimly and a little throatily.

"We've got time yet," ventured Nikki tactfully.

"Look here," Margaret replied in firmer and clearer tones." Can you do me a favour and make me a not too hot cup of coffee while I finish off getting ready. Make one for yourselves if you wish. I won't be long. I've never ducked out of any crisis in my life and I'm not going to start now."

"As you wish," Helen answered, willingly giving way to her friend's authoritative manner. Such positivism from their friend was very welcome right now.

While the two women worked lightly round each other and emerged into the living room, Margaret had got ready as promised, dressed in her typical flowing dress, hair neatly piled on high and a scarf looped carelessly round her neck. Somehow, she'd miraculously transformed herself.

"How do I look?" she asked, with a particularly dramatic flair in her stance.

"Just perfect," came the positive unison reply, which made her beam with unashamed pleasure. Ten minutes of her friends' cheering company had instantly cut through her depression of the previous night. At the back of her mind, she wondered just what it was that had got her ready to focus on the challenge to hand. In no time, they drank their coffees and, on Margaret's instruction, left everything on the side. They were out of the door and the bright early morning sunshine created tones of delightful contrasts. Never had the world looked so fresh to these three women in this moment of keyed up excitement.

"You sit in the front Nikki," Margaret suggested, seeing her friend's moment of indecision, whether or not to offer her company." I'm fine in the back."

As Helen put the Renault into gear and set off rapidly down the road, Margaret could swear that her left hand was being squeezed and she could smell the familiar perfume. She was in a state of indecision whether or not to turn her head and see her lover with her perfectly shaped face, red lipstick and curly blond hair falling on her shoulders. She was suspended in delicious indecision. She wondered if she turned her head, perhaps the spirit would disappear. While her body was frozen in its present posture, all Julia's desirable self overwhelmed her as she sat in the back of the car.

"That's the spirit darling. You go out and wow them just the way you've always done," came the perfectly articulated voice, syllable perfect. Margaret was in seventh heaven.

"Julia's with you, isn't she?" stated Nikki flatly, turning round to see the expression of bliss on their friend's face.

"How did you guess?" the older woman replied to which Nikki smiled knowingly. They had become very relaxed about travelling in the fifth dimension as had their friends.

A little while later, Nikki got out her mobile phone and talked to John on his 'hands free' set and then to Jenny and Sally Anne. While they were moving forward and she had something to occupy her hands and mind, she was fine. She exchanged glances with Helen whose nervous energy was directed in getting them there on time and curving round the sharp right hand turns at traffic lights and finally swinging into a multistory car park. So driven were Nikki and Helen to get to their destination that only as they strode down the concrete staircase that Margaret was beginning to flag and fall behind the others.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry." Nikki exclaimed as she immediately slowed down from striding down the staircase and she and Helen let the out of breath woman catch up.

"It's not your fault. It comes from me acting as if I'm immortal," came the wryly humorous reply.

Soon they were at the bottom and zeroed in on the open door where an anxious middle-aged kindly man spotted them and whisked them aside.

"Elaine's tipped me off for your need for a side room. She's told me who to look out for. The room's pretty functional, I'll warn you."

"So long as it has half a dozen chairs. We'll rough it," Helen reassured the man cheerily with her winning smile.

The man warmed to their graciousness and the three women were buoyed up by their friend Elaine's old-fashioned sense of detail and this good omen. Sure enough, the room wasn't much more luxurious than the standard Larkhall 'brief's room.' It had all they wanted. Margaret sank gratefully down into the plastic chair with metal legs while Helen and Nikki paced slowly around. It was then that the older woman realized that she'd been missing something.

"Is there something wrong, darlings?"

"Nothing much," Nikki said shortly." I guess we should have said earlier on. It affects you too. The Hollambys are coming with Fenner, the slimiest, most misogynist bastard you could ever hope to meet."

"Worse still, I really don't know how much that bastard knows of the two of us,"added Helen. "You understand that he was there when I was a senior prisoner officer and Nikki a prison he'd known everything of what we'd been doing, I could have been sacked on the spot."

"I'm really sorry darlings. You've had this on your mind while I've been burdening you with my troubles," apologized Margaret with exquisite concern as she shifted her mind to trying to make practical suggestions." It's a risk but he won't be not prepared for us, as we will be for him. Perhaps he'll not want his dirty washing aired in public if you know enough of his misdeeds. If it comes to it, couldn't you pay him back in his own coin if need be and rely on your natural integrity. You're in front of the general public, not the powers that be at Larkhall. They might see the difference between immorality and merely breaking the rules."

Just as the two women hugged their friend emotionally for calming their fears, John politely put his head round the door.

"Well spoken Margaret. You have a natural flair for this kind of thing. After all, we must trust in the righteousness of our cause and ourselves. We have it in spadefuls."

Margaret smiled warmly at her friend's well-chosen calming words as he unassumingly took his seat in this shabby room. Nikki's mobile bleeped as Claire's number showed on the dial.

"Sally Anne and Trisha and Claire and Jenny are just crossing the road. They'll be with us soon."

"Good," beamed John as he started to pace restlessly round the room. His friends were starting to realize that John was slightly nervous, finding himself outside his accustomed role without his normal props. In no time at all, the door opened and the four women slipped quietly inside. Nikki carefully positioned a chair at the head of the rough wooden table for John to sit in. He smiled appreciatively at the compliment and felt more at home.

"I must warn you that as soon as I open my mouth- and I will- I'm certain that I'll be picked on and singled out. They will try and shut me up and the chairman will have the advantage of the microphone. Somehow, we'll have to work really hard, to overthrow the control the chairman will seek to impose on us."

"You're really relishing the prospects of this," grinned Helen impishly.

"I used to read Sherlock Holmes stories when I was younger and it intrigued me when he fancied himself as a highly efficient burglary in a good cause – to break into Charles Augustus Milverton's house if I remember it right."

"That's the way I recall it," said Claire, holding Jenny by the hand, looking cool and possessed." Anyway, back to the plan.

"All right, this is the way I see it," John said, quietly leading off the debate, one eye on his watch.

**********

The conference hall was rectangular shaped, set out in lines of padded chairs with a central aisle round the middle and a small stage at the end upon which a wide table was set out with a microphone in the middle behind which sat Sir Percy Thrower, the Home Office functionary. Behind him, a back projection of the slogan 'Imprisonment and Modernisation' onto a backcloth made sure to remind even the casual observer what the message was all about. It was surrounded by a glossy picture of what Helen could only suppose to be the most modern prison with plenty of smiling faces. She and Nikki snorted cynically at the graphics as it wasn't even subtle at the sugar-coated pill the organizers were trying to get a gullible audience to swallow. Right at the front of the hall, sat some anonymously dressed, glossy haired women, makeup perfect, a couple of them holding portable hand microphones. The men in their smart suits with equally airbrushed looks were similarly equipped. Helen figured out that these were the meetings facilitators. At each side were doors leading off to separate meeting rooms.

As they entered the hall, they discreetly mingled with the crowd as they moved towards their places. A casual glance around them showed a fair proportion of the rest of the conference looked like respectable looking middle class professionals but then again, that applied to a fair number of the comrades in arms. With previous experience of conferences, John took in the logistics immediately. They did their best to look as anonymous as possible, finally choosing a line of chairs about two thirds back. Helen led the way in followed by Nikki, Margaret, John, Claire, Jenny, Sally-Anne Jenny, and finally Trisha on the end seat on the left hand side of the hall. On Helen's other side was a slim middle-aged woman, with longish greying hair and fringe. Her tight denim jeans contrasted with her manner of being a professional type. While her expression was serious and intense, Helen guessed that time had softened the sharp edges of her youth.

"There's Fenner and the Bodybags," whispered Nikki to Margaret who had spotted them and giggled under her breath while John grinned broadly. They were six rows in front. John saw Sir Percy Thrower glance sideways at a black man with neatly cropped hair and a stiff blue suit. That could only be the censorious Lawrence James. Finally, he cleared his voice and started speaking.

The man stood and spoke in the style of speaking beloved of those who chair meetings in considering that the meeting was set for him to perform and orate to his heart's content. He introduced himself as Sir Percy Thrower, Permanent Secretary and a Very Important Person.

"Some achieve fame and some have fame thrust on them," muttered John ironically under his breath, drawing a grin from the others who noticed how fidgety he was. In droning his way through the domestics, what to do if there was a fire, where the toilets were and finally drew breath long enough to prepare to set his stamp on the direction of the meeting.

"Finally, we come to why we have all given up our free time to deal with an issue that public opinion has long been concerned, of why it is that the streets of Britain are menaced by muggers, why street crime is on the up and up, after there has been so much focus on being tough on crime and on the causes of crime."

Again the political mantra beloved of his party slipped into thin air without much reflection on the matter, Jenny considered with contempt. Being an overworked probation officer, she didn't need this kind of guff.

'Perhaps it might be felt that we should reconnect with ideas which, some say we have lost track of. Those ideas are of inflicting a short sharp shock for imprisoned criminals to deter them from ever committing crimes so that the streets of England can once again be made safe for the decent hardworking citizen. You have all been called forward to receive the main message of this preliminary meeting and after which, to break up into various sub meetings to break the problem down into bite sized chunks. From this, it is hoped that in the afternoon, we can draw the strands of the thinking together. At the end of the meeting, I give a solemn undertaking that the staff who work for me will embed the ideas into detailed strategies. Before I finish and allow a five-minute question and answer session, I leave you with the thought that somewhere, this society has lost its way. Way back in the nineteen fifties, a man or a woman could leave his or her front door open without the slightest suspicion that the house would be broken into. There was an instinctive respect and acceptance of rules, an unthinking deference to authority and a certain natural religious observance, which we have sadly lost. Ideally, it would be best if society could find some way in returning to this Garden of Eden. And now, my assistants with the microphone will come to anyone who wants to ask a quick question if there is anything not clear."

Trisha had been aware of her older friend's increasing restiveness and wasn't greatly surprised to see her stick up her hand. After all, Margaret would be certain to be called as she looked like such a harmless innocent old lady, the younger woman thought as she grinned to herself.


	52. Chapter 52

**Scene Fifty-Two**

What had most incensed Margaret was was this man's arrogant assumption of history contrasting with memories of her friends' sympathetic willingness to listen. To her, it was obvious what she must do. All sorts of ideas were bubbling round in her mind as she saw the blond haired woman bear down on her. For a second, she wondered what she was letting herself in for but she felt her friend's warm emotional support and she stood up to receive the microphone. The man on the platform was smiling in anticipation of confirmation of his point of view. After all, she looked like the typical died in the wool Conservative voter that was ideally suited to reinforce the history lesson.

"Oh help," Bodybag said as her head swivelled round and she turned pink with embarrassment. She refused to enlarge on the matter, not with Jim sitting next to her. Whatever would he think to admit the existence of the black sheep in the family?

"What do you mean Sylv?" Bobby replied, unable to keep his voice down. To his wife's intense relief, he responded to her discreet shushing sounds.

Finally, Margaret took the black lump of metal in her hands and accepted the advice from the woman to speak close up enough into the microphone.

"I'm not too sure about the speaker's description of times gone by as a Garden of Eden," she said, her voice booming strangely and unaccountably from the amplification. She was quick witted enough to adjust to it and to give her voice the right mreasure of extra power. Miraculously, the words formed themselves in her mind, tapping into her natural theatricality to feel all the confidence in the world. All her life's experiences had prepared her for this decisive moment in history and she was vibrantly ready for it. "I remember that society could be much more intolerant than it is nowadays. You were expected to conform to a particular model, dress in a certain way, behave in a certain way and people didn't begin to understand if you wanted to be different as I was. We don't need that kind of bigoted of thinking. I was cast out and disowned by my parents and sister for falling for the love of my life who was female."

Because a breathless hush resonated round the room at this stunning revelation, Bodybag buried her head in her hands, Bobby looked resolutely away stone-faced while a growing incredulous scowl spread across Fenner's face. He never imagined in a million years that that sort of thing went on in his grandparent's days.

"My own experiences aren't that important on their problem I find is that I'm sure that people do dreadful things to each other as much as they ever used to but both rich and poor commit crimes. I feel that too many people in high places only believe in the eleventh commandment, 'thou shalt not be found out.' The young people I know have a much better sense of genuine morals as they ask questions about society and don't follow orders blindly. This is the sort of thing we really need to talk about..Thank you."

As Margaret sat down, she was greeted by murmured sounds of disapproval on the one hand and loud clapping, both from her friends and from clumps of others in the audience. John was beaming with pleasure as his friend had encapsulated ideas that had been his own guiding light throughout his life. He delighted in her sheer outrageousness which rippled its way outwards as a rock would do when dropped into a mountain pool.

The next speaker struck a jarring note with them, as he was a young man dressed in a suit and looking older than his years. Something about his mannerisms seemed unpleasantly familiar to John.

"Isn't it great that Hampstead intellectuals get in on the act and don't see what I see among the community I live in and that is young tearaways hanging round street corners, drinking cheap lager in public and getting violent. People are afraid to walk the streets. It's all the fault of do-gooders. This country needs to be cleaned up and the only question is how," the young man in the center of the hall spat out angrily and contemptuously.

He was greeted by a mixed murmur of approval and disapproval while Margaret and her friends immediately recognized their enemy. In particular, Jenny's blood was up. She put her hand up and an assistant came to her with the microphone. She didn't beat about the bush.

"I for one don't want the ghost of Margaret Thatcher to keep forever haunting us. I'm a probation officer and I deal with some of these young kids a few years down the line after they've got into real trouble. I know very well that, try my best, they come from parts of the community where social cohesion has simply broken down. I don't mean the 'thou shalt not' outlook but where there aren't enough positive examples to relate to. Sink estates get that way when someone's or something has pulled the plug on them. Acting like head teacher wielding a cane simply won't work."

A more certain ripple of applause echoed round the hall. Finally, Bodybag put her hand up and as the microphone was passed spoke up, both Nikki and Helen's blood pressure started to rise. They dreaded what she might come out with.

"I'm a very experienced prison officer at a women's prison and you wouldn't believe me if I told you about my experiences. There was a phase of 'touchee-feelee' attitudes amongst some idealistic prison officers who were believed against those who had been around a while. Needless to say, they didn't last the course. What it comes down to is good old-fashioned jail craft and firm discipline. That's what counts."

Sir Percy Thrower saw the backwards and forwards cut and thrust of debate and immediately jumped in to give it a gentle steer.

"I think that we have a lot of food for thought for this meeting to break up into groups. There's one last point and that is what modernization actually means. Some might say that it is the rediscovery of old ideas, suitably updated for modern times. Can everyone look at the list of groups that have been decided on according to the lists which I'll project onto the screen behind me hopefully if this projector does its job?"

He clicked on the switch and, sure enough, a neatly written list of numbered topics was projected onto the white backcloth in place of the title of the conference. John ran his eye over the list and smiled with general satisfaction. Sally Anne and Jenny were down for 'Radical concepts in law enforcement,' John and Claire for 'Managing social conflict in today's society', and Nikki, Helen, the Bodybags and Fenner for 'Modernising the Prison Service' and Trisha for** '**The customer experience' and Margaret for 'Resolving resistance to change.' At the front, each facilitator held up a piece of card with the number. At least that part of the arrangements couldn't be faulted in terms of efficiency. While all this was going on, Lawrence James looked on, stony faced, conscious that the general strategem was not going according to plan as troublemakers had slipped through the net. He exchanged glances with Sir Percy Thrower, indicating that his presence in the seminar groups would be needed after all.

"During the course of the morning, I'll drift in between the various seminar groups to get the feel of the debates and we'll all be back together in this hall in the afternoon where we'll pull the various threads together and arrive at our conclusions. Without further ado, can you all come forward to the front of the hall to meet your facilitator."

With a formal smile, he stood up and left the stage at the back leaving the audience to start the endless shuffle out of their seats. The first suspicions crept into the minds of John and his friends that all was not as it seemed.

"I'm all right on my own," Trisha said, turning round to talk to the others as they started to make way along the left hand aisle to the front but what about Margaret?"

"I thought your contribution was tremendous. It's exactly what needed saying," John's neighbour exclaimed enthusiastically at Margaret as she threaded her way through the stream of people to catch up with her." As it happens, I'm in the same group as you."

"We ought to introduce each other. I'm Margaret. I suppose I've already explained who I am," said Margaret, her social instincts operating faultlessly and her eyes twinkling with mischief. She was rather impressed with this younger woman, whose age was turning her longish hair grey but hadn't dampened down her natural warmth of manner.

"And I'm Gemma. I'm a feminist, still active after all these years," she said lightly. She paused as she was temporarily lost in thought. "Have we met somewhere before?" she asked, not really aware that this was the oldest line in the book. There really was something familiar about this woman from a long time back.

"I'm not sure. I suppose we'll find out later on. Anyway, I suppose we'd better catch up with our group leader and get ready for battle," Margaret replied. Her earlier speech had whetted her appetite for fighting the good fight, just like Joan of Arc once had.

*********

Having got to her group earlier than the others, Trisha was already starting to get bored as she hung around ailessly, studying the group of twenty other assorted British citizens. The obnoxious man who had spoken earlier on gleefully attached himself to her group. She sighed to herself, bemoaning her bad luck to be lumbered with this bigot. The expression 'customer experience' sounded far too much like the sort of jargon she'd been fed with when she worked for the bank. As someone who's spent the last ten odd years running her own business, first with Nikki and recently, with Sally Anne, she thought she had a fair idea of what customers wanted and what should be allowed. As she started to move off with her group, she fluttered her fingers at Sally Anne hoping she and Jenny would take on the vigilante cops in their group. She suspected that 'managing social conflict in today's society' meant send for the goon squads.

"Well," the facilitator pronounced with standard bright enthusiasm," So we can get to know each other better, we should introduce ourselves, giving our name and what we do for a living."

Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt, thought Trisha, and when it came to her turn, she opted to be guarded. She heard the paragons of virtue as they either worked in sales, behind the counter in some organizations or other, and served the local community. They bragged about what a credit they werew to their families. Her chief opponent, Nick Rochester, outdid them all being the leader of a local council. She put two and two together in terms of his relative youth and being related to John Deed's arch-enemy, Sir Ian Rochester.

"I'm Trisha," she said," and no, I'm not married and have no children. I used to work in a bank and now I run a successful club, together with my partner. We don't have trouble with dangerous drunks as the customers behave themselves. You get the odd client who is lovingly tight and has to be put into a taxi," she said in all innocence. Being dressed in her favourite elegant light blue suit and white blouse, she looked conventionally feminine to all casual observers, her blond hair just brushing her shoulders.

"You interest me," the facilitator prattled on." I'm used to hearing of clubs drowning beneath a rising tide of alcohol with drunken out of control behaviour at chucking out time."

"That's because other owners are greedy for profits, and end up with what you describe. My barmaids know very well when to draw the line with anyone getting too drunk. Also, we know the regulars as friends. You might say we've got a niche market."

"Hmmn," snorted Nick Rochester skeptically."It sounds too good to be true. Even if I believe what you say, what is there to stop your customers taking their money elsewhere?"

"We probably have lost custom, true but my club is for women to get mellow and enjoy themselves. You see, it's a lesbian club but that's not unique these days, never really was," Trisha said slowly and softly.

There was a shocked silence as all the others in the group stared at her as if she was a laboratory specimen.

"So what you've done is wasting valuable time, leaving out half the human race and leaving a tiny minority of what's left," hissed Nick Rochester.

"I don't agree at all. There's something else I want to say." Trisha's shift in gear startled the group as ominously angry emotions spilled out, surprising herself as the horrific turning point of her life burst through in traumatic intensity." The only trouble I've ever had in my life was from an evil policeman who got funny ideas about me and, late one night tried to rape me. If it hadn't been for my partner who slaved with me to build up the club, he would have succeeded because she took out the man. So what did she get in return? She was dragged through the courts, vilified by the tabloid press and was locked up for life. If it hadn't been for her present partner and my good friend, she'd still be there. Don't dare to think that all the evil guys are on the one side and the righteous 'law and order' types are on the other side. Some customer experience that was,"Trisha finished on an acidly cutting tone of voice.

Helplessly, the facilitator looked around as the structure of the meeting fell apart. Her training didn't take account of real emotional outpourings like this.

"I think we need to collect ourselves, to try and see that this may be an unfortunate, isolated instance, not that we are denying you your feelings, Trisha."

"So what you're saying is that it's all the fault of the wicked police," Nick Rochester added in cold terms.

"Oh no, that's not the case," Trisha replied quickly, a little embarrassed at giving way to her emotions." A couple of female policewomen come to our club only they're not looking for Mr. Right. They've already found Ms. Right- in each other."

"So it's all the fault of wicked brutish men. I might have known," came the sneering response.

"Oh no, that's not the case either. I live among women so men aren't necessary in my world but I do come across them. I met a high court judge recently through a friend of a friend. He's a great guy, great principles. That's what it's all about. You get the principles applied right and half the problems in society are solved. As you see, the idea of 'keeping the streets safe' so decent people can walk the streets safe at night is dangerously simplistic …………….." Trisha replied, warming to the cut and thrust of debate as Nick Rochester looked suspiciously at her. She felt good about herself as she was now riding the track of her line of thinking which was starting to derail the central theme that this clown was trying to foist on them. It made her feel good inside that Nik would be proud of her.


	53. Chapter 53

Scene Fifty-ThreeSally Anne peered anxiously through the line of heads in front of her and caught sight of her partner, who had reached the front of the hall ahead of the others and who headed off to her meeting. She hoped that Trisha would be all right on her own as the judge's pep talk of the 'buddy' system would ensure that if one of them stumbled, the other would pick up the thread of what the other was saying. All the women had related very much to his idea and, as luck would have it, they had all been matched except that Trisha was on her own. All the same, she sensed that Trisha might not be able to sustain her façade of cool reluctance to be drawn into the passionate intensity of her friends. She had never really talked of that nightmarish evening that had started the same as any normal club night which led to Nikki being holed up in a police cell while Trisha had been casually discarded once the police had got their woman.Being in the same group as Jenny, she took heart from her friend, whose fresh complexion, tousled dark hair and warm-hearted manner inspired confidence. In turn, Jenny felt good about herself, having struck an early blow for their merry band of fighters, having been buoyed up by the good will emanating from either side of her. As both women judged that their facilitator had no great strength of character, they could see that they would have a fight on their hands. It was obvious that their group had their share of reactionary police minded members of the audience with practical experience behind them. It wasn't that the majority of the group were men as she had come across enough authoritarian minded women in her profession but that these guys gave out unsettling vibrations and had that hard faced, close cropped look about them.The facilitator who led off their meeting didn't waste any time as she had that kind of compelling enthusiastic glitter in her eyes that invited those of the group to share her world. Jenny and Sally-Anne simultaneously realized that they had years of acquiring that precious, almost indefinable 'bullshit detector' that enabled them to thread their way between the spoken lines.

"We need the sort of thinking that is called 'blue sky thinking.' We shouldn't imagine that the current restrictions on doing our job are fixed like tablets in stone. We have to be bold, daring, innovative. What if the current restrictions on us doing our jobs weren't there? What if we could have all the powers we needed, that could cut their way through needless red tape? What sort of world could we create and just how better could society be in keeping the streets safe from the rising tide of crime?"

"I'm with you there," the man sitting opposite Sally-Anne said." The sorts of restrictions under which we operate are quite frankly ridiculous. There's so much red tape and concern for the 'rights of the accused.' For a start, there are limits on how long we can hold suspects without charging them for the offence and I don't see anything wrong in upping the top limit from seven days to twenty-eight. That would give the backroom boys a chance to nose out the evidence. Society's complicated and anonymous, you know. It's not as if locals who know everything on their turf will be able to give you the name straight off."

"There's another thing. Even when we get a good collar and get the criminal into court, some bleeding heart judge will give him a slap on the wrist and tell him not to be a naughty boy in future. Then again, some of the juries are, quite frankly, a pain in the arse and will believe any sort of crap that the criminals spew this day and age, I feel that we can do away with juries. Let the two barristers fight it out and a decent judge convict and clap the irons on the criminal," another member of the law and order Mafia interjected with barely a gap in the debate.

"You could go further than this. Prison's too soft these days. They all have colour TV in their cells and laze around at the taxpayer's expense," another one of them said.

"I hate to say it but you're straying outside the terms of reference of our group," the facilitator delicately interjected, her smiles of approval obvious to the increasingly incensed Jenny and Sally-Anne." One group, 'managing conflict in today's society,' will deal with the conduct of trials and another group, 'modernizing the prison service," will deal with how prisoners are treated. We need to focus on how best criminals are caught. Your zealousness and public concern is understandable though."

"Can't we make space for alternative points of view? This is such militarist talk," stormed Jenny, somehow breaking through the wall of words. Her intervention was like a bucket of water thrown at the first speakers who were in heat in their lust for power and authority.

"I do believe we've got one of those wet liberals," muttered a fourth man in a deliberately sarcastic aside, "probably a bra-burning feminist as well."

"First things first. We need to be sure that police morals are squeaky clean to have any credibility with the public. You don't know what damage one rotten apple in the barrel can do." Sally Anne found herself saying in a choked voice, trembling with emotion in a way that bothered her. She ignored the taunt, as she didn't want to get down to the gutter with this man.

"I suppose you left the police force because you couldn't hack it," interrupted a hard faced woman loudly and confidently.

"I was a serving policewoman for a number of years only I came across the wrong kind of policeman," Sally Anne said, fighting more successfully to channel her thought most effectively into words." He was my mentor when I first joined the Met and I sat in on some of his interviews. He was gung-ho, a bully and he cut corners in his interviews as I later realized. He had the highest rate of collars in his station and other policemen looked up to him as someone whose example should be followed. In his private life, he was a misogynist as one day when I foolishly let myself be on my own with him late one night. I made it quite clear that I found his line of conversation sleazy and I didn't fancy him in the slightest…." "So you say," the first man retorted disbelievingly. "So he went on to rape me and not only that," insisted Sally Anne relentlessly, cutting through the shouts of anger in protest," but he got his friends to put pressure on me when I pressed charges. They forced me out of the service. That man did a lot of damage to me and I'm sure I wasn't the first. I later found out that he tried the same to the owner of a lesbian club, only she had her partner to stand up for her. I gave evidence in court for the woman concerned and her life imprisonment was quashed." "So just do us a favour, lady and come to the point," sneered the second man. " That's quite simple," intervened Jenny as she could see that Sally Anne was struggling under the continual pressure." You need to take out the rotten apples out of the barrel and also for the police to realize that they are fact finders, not judge, jury and executioner. The powers that the earlier speakers are suggesting will make them just that. If the police don't clean up its act, how can it be trusted to investigate crime properly? It certainly cannot be trusted with extra powers and it won't get the cooperation from the public that they need. There is a real danger that what legitimacy that they have will be blown clean out of the water and these powers will simply backfire on them."

Jenny's calm and clear words were convincing those who hadn't spoken and started to marginalize the 'hang them and flog them' brigade. At this point, Sir Percy Thrower slipped into the room, hearing the sounds of lively discourse from the outside. He inserted his pearl of wisdom at what he thought the right time.

"I thought it might help your discussions that the 'customer experience' group are quite keen on the idea of keeping the streets safe and accept that a few peripheral freedoms might have to go by the wayside to achieve that."

"That doesn't matter," interjected Sally Anne firmly, furious at what she suspected was a put up job, jumping in before the facilitator could further twist the debate. She knew Trisha better than that. "At least some of us feel that we can only effectively operate by public consent and that's the line we should go down."

"Another idea I thought it might be a good idea to throw into the mix is for judges to be compelled to hand down mandatory sentences according to rules set by the Home Office," Sir Percy Thrower insisted, getting visibly rattled at the disturbing line the debate was heading.

"Worse and worse," interjected Jenny." Being a probation officer, I investigate an offender's personal and criminal history for the court where a judge directs to make sure we get justice right. I supervise those convicted of offences that don't earn a custodial sentence and those released after their prison sentence."

"It's only because you'll be done out of a job. So why aren't you achieving bloody miracles, if that's how you see yourself?"

"Well, yes, I would be done out of a job, can't deny that one. It's the old story in the public sector, too much demands on your time, not enough experienced staff, too many demands from politicians trying to sound tough and being a million miles from what really goes down in society."

All the time the tense debate was being thrashed out, the rest of the group were becoming restive at the behaviour of whom they saw as dangerously out of control reactionaries. They felt sorry for these two nice women and didn't like the idea of being steamrollered by the reactionaries. Besides they didn't like the feel of this Home Office guy sneakingly trying to tell them how to think.

********

By contrast to the grueling uphill battle fought by Sally Anne and Jenny, the reactionaries in 'managing social conflict in today's society' were soundly beaten by John with Claire's expert backing.

"Every judge I know feels strongly in the separation of powers, the executive, the legislature and the judiciary. That is traditional British constitutional theory."

"Don't you think that it is an outdated concept belonging to the time when people in the streets really wore white wigs the same way that judges still do? Somehow, the legal system must be forward looking and embrace change. Let's face it, it has the image of being very set in its ways.

For a second, John was irritated by the way he wasn't allowed to continue his address, as he would have been in court. Then he realised that he wasn't in court as the light touch on his suit sleeve from Claire's hand reminded him.

"Truths about society aren't subject to fashion, thank goodness. Fashion ducks and darts its way in a pattern that makes no particular logic. I have my share of modernisms about me, being a female lawyer and in the way I dress but what attracts me to the law is its solidity and reliability," Claire said softly, shaking her long brown hair that fell on her shoulders.

"Claire's right," John said approvingly, cheered by her astute reply." The fear of the consolidation of power is very genuine and very real. Tyranny and oppression are ageless concepts and so is the desire for freedom, one of the very finest of emotions."

John's melodious voice wove its magic spell on the rest of the group and cut through the modernising talk that their male facilitator had tried to impress on them. Claire thought that if the other groups were going the same way as theirs, then John's plan to subvert and overthrow this public relations operation was going well. It was then that Sir Percy Thrower entered the room and smiled ingratiatingly. Both John and Claire doubted the honesty of the man's very presence the very instance he entered the room.

"Don't let me hold up your discussions. I thought I'd let you know that some of the other groups are coming round to the idea of juryless trials as a way of speeding up the legal process."

"Juryless trials?" John stormed in splendid style." The idea is an abomination. I tell you that you will not find one high court judge in the land in favour of that idea."

"How do you know?" said a prim and proper businessman." Don't you think that some judges might be driven frantic by some bumbling juries who let the criminal off the hook when a clear sighted judge knows beyond doubt that the man –or woman- is as guilty as sin."

"I did think that my thesis of the separation of powers was explanation enough. I ought to explain that judges are haunted by the feeling that their judgment might be wrong. In the case of manslaughter, the tariff attracts the widest scope for variation of sentence."

"The appeals procedure is obviously an impediment and an obstruction. If the grounds for appeal were limited to the most complicated cases, the money could be better spent elsewhere, more generous funding for the legal aid system for instance."

"I am skeptical that putting such money into the government's trouser pockets only for it to be generously given back works in practice. It all depends on how much the government good word is trusted," observed Claire to John's amusements.

"So no takers, even from those who are out in the wide world?" Sir Percy pursued, making one last try.

"We have to decide as we see fit," an elderly woman who sat in a local Magistrates Court, glaring suspiciously at the man. While being a traditional died in the wool Conservative, she didn't take kindly to interference, much to John and Claire's pleasure.


	54. Chapter 54

**Scene Fifty-Four**

"What on earth does this title mean?" Margaret asked her new friend, an expression of incomprehension on her face as they both followed their facilitator to their seminar room. Behind them, Nikki and Helen were still struggling their way through the crowds. "It's the most ridiculous nonsense I've ever heard in my life."

"You have been spared the experience of management consultants." Gemma laughed easily at the older woman, whose sharp observations were right up her street . They felt relaxed with each other pretty quickly. "Believe me, sometimes I'd sooner clean out latrines than deal with those sort of people. Half the time, they need subtitles."

"So can you translate this into proper English, the kind we learnt when we were young?" Margaret pursued. Gemma found it deliciously amusing that, for the first time in her life, she was willingly allying herself with the older generation.

"If I think this means what I think it is, we're being lined up as the cultural onslaught against all decent and humane values."

"Which means that we dig in our heels and win over the others to our point of view," concluded Margaret crisply.

"What on earth is that argument about behind us?" Gemma asked her friend as a sudden outburst of shouting could be heard, finishing with Helen's distinct clarion tones in a broader Scottish accent than was normal. They had just passed through the set of swing doors on the way to their seminar room.

"Don't worry, Gemma," laughed Margaret who had caught the drift of the proceedings and knew that the matter was in good hands." That's Helen, a very dear friend of mine, putting very firmly in their place my very repellent niece and her abominable husband."

Gemma smiled at her friend's reply. She knew that somehow they were well placed to take hold of the meeting by the scruff of its neck.

***********

"My generation fought in the Second World War for freedoms to be enjoyed in peacetime," Margaret said in forceful tones feeling all the confidence in the world. The facilitator had pressed entirely the wrong buttons in his introduction amd she couldn't wait to jump in."For instance, my late partner Julia Desmond drove an ambulance during the worst of the Blitz in London's Eastend. A very dear friend of mine was an ATS pilot, ferrying military aircraft, anything from Supermarine Spitfires to four engines Avro Lancasters. Do you really think that they would wish on us this creeping erosion of human rights like some insidious weed? The country's going to the dogs," she concluded with splendid indignation.

"I'm afraid you ladies are speaking from an idealized position of human liberties in the abstract rather than the necessities of modern day society," the political sociologist argued with oily facility, the words dripping out of his mouth." There are obstacles that must be overcome one way or another if the foundations of a more secure society are to be laid."

"Resolving resistance to change?" challenged Gemma, squeezing her way through her friend's forceful head-on assault, her finely tuned bullshit detector having immediately picked up on the phrase. She had learned long ago not to accept the given." It presupposes the rightness of the changes and the obsolescence of traditional virtues.'

"The appeals procedure is obviously an impediment and an obstruction to the smooth operation of justice. If the right of appeal is restricted to certain key areas, it will free up money to be better spent elsewhere and the same for juryless trials," reasoned the smooth talking man in whose facility with words the harassed facilitator placed her hopes.

"Yes and Hitler made the trains run on time," Margaret shot back in exasperated tones.

"I remember my history lessons that Hitler achieved power by suspending human rights guaranteed under the Weimar Constitution because of a supposed threat to National Security. The lessons of history aren't on your side, Mr. Political Sociologist," weighed in Gemma, steamrollering through the facilitator's attempts to restore order. Both women felt like naughty schoolgirls playing up teacher except that their cause was knew that their differing debating techniques would mesh in just fine and they couldn't be beaten.

***********

Nikki and Helen edged forward in the stream of people and knew very well that it was only a matter of time before their bitterest enemies would finally recognize them and they braced themselves for battle. Helen pressed her lover's friend, indicating that she would take up the cudgels.

"What the hell are you two lezzer dykes doing here?" Fenner snarled.

"You. You've not business to be here, especially you Wade," exploded Bodybag, her face turning crimson with anger, jumping the gun on her slower-witted husband.

"Let's make one thing clear, you three. We applied for this conference in the normal way and we have every right to be here,"retorted Nikki. Her split-second pause for thought was enough for Helen to join the action

"You'd better understand that times have moved on and if I here one more squeak out of the pair of you, I swear to god I'll have the police on you. Even you two would find it very hard to weasel your way out of trouble back at the ranch not to mention the public exhibition you'd make of yourselves "

Helen's authentic crack of authority and the sting in the tail of public exposure caused both their enemies to turn purple in the face but Fenner nudged Bodybag to shut up. The two women knew that they were only saving up their fury for later. At least it might put them off their stride, they both thought with grim satisfaction.

When they got into the seminar room, Helen grabbed two seats next to the facilitator, gambling on being the first to introduce themselves. They let the facilitator explain the preliminaries and Helen fixed each member of the group with her bright smile as she spoke.

"Right, I'm Helen Stewart and I've spent five years in the prison service both as ordinary prison officer before being promoted rapidly to wing governor, time on home office projects and finally acting governing governor at Larkhall Prison. Having been worn down by years of combatting reactionary, 'lock them up' attitudes, I resigned and have since worked as a caseworker for the Criminal Cases Review Commission. In plain English, this independent public body investigates possible miscarriages of justice and assesses whether convictions or sentences should be referred to the Court of Appeal. In other words, I have seen the prison and justice system, warts and all."

"And I'm Nikki Wade. I was once a businesswoman, running a lesbian club with my partner and did time for taking out the evil homophobic policeman who would otherwise have raped her. I would still be rotting inside if I hadn't successfully won my appeal. Having gained a BA degree in English and my reputation as a campaigner for justice preceding me, I gained employment immediately as a researcher for the Howard League for Penal Reform, set up in 1866 by John Howard one of the first prison reformers. Who better than me to tell it like it is?"

Fenner and the Hollambys were taken aback by the way their arch-enemies grabbed hold of the debate with their clarity and persuasiveness and in particular, that they had new careers. Somehow, they still thought of them indissolubly linked to Larkhall despite the evidence to the contrary. The way that Nikki's contribution followed on so seamlessly where Helen left off also disconcerted them.

"You poor thing," exclaimed a typical middle-aged housewife type." I mean I don't understand your, well, your private life but I understand if anyone was threatening my George, he's my husband, you know, I'd stand up for him."

The two women smiled warmly on this contributor to the debate who had so kindly and unexpectedly stood up for them while the facilitator moved restively to the next person. All went comparatively smoothly until it came time for their enemies to speak. Helen and Nikki clenched their fists under the rectangular pine table to restrain themselves.

"I'm Sylvia Hollamby and I'm a very experienced Senior Officer at Larkhall Prison and, unlike those two who spoke earlier on, I've worked twelve years in the prison service. I feel that it gives me especial expertise of what goes on, , especially as Stewart was a thoroughly incompetent manager while Wade was nothing but a violent scheming trouble maker."

"Excuse me but do you really have to address these two women like this, Sylvia? Christian names are more usual," interjected the facilitator whose brow was troubled. This middle-aged woman had started speaking slowly and deliberately until it was overtaken by a surge of pent-up aggression.

"Watch it, Sylvia," murmured Fenner through nearly closed lips. He could see her scoring a perfect own goal.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but old wounds take a lot of healing. All I meant to say that the 'so called' progressive approach doesn't work. I tried it years ago and they took advantage of my naïve credibility. The women do like to play tricks on you. The prison service needs to be backed up from the top so that when the prison officer makes a stand, he or she won't be accused of 'abusing human rights.' In my view, rights need to be earned."

"You need a firm but fair regime in prisons. The prison officers know where they are and so do the prisoners. You spell out the rules and if anyone kicks over the traces, then they get what's coming to them," Fenner smoothly added with an expression as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "I've been in the prison service even longer than Sylvia, twenty years man and boy, with a spell in the army before that."

"And I've worked many years in men's prisons until I took early retirement," Bobby added." I hear Sylvia's stories and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that nothing's changed."

"My experience both sides of the prison bars is of the damage done by old style prison officer culture. It's riddled with favouritism, petty oppression, lack of respect for basic human rights. I found that out very swiftly at the start of three traumatic years in Larkhall Prison," cut back Nikki with deliberately controlled patience." They seem to set out deliberately to get people's backs up and they are simply asking for trouble and got it. In my time as a prisoner and in doing research work at Holloway, I find that those really good prison officers who do treat prisoners decently and fair-mindedly generally get respect. from most prisoners. What sticks in my gullet is that Sylvia Hollamby and Jim Fenner are the biggest hypocrites in terms of what they say as opposed to what they do. I can't say that Jim Fenner is exactly incompetent, but he's got a record as long as your arm for his corrupt exercise of authority and for abusing vulnerable female prisoners. As for Sylvia Hollamby, she's simply a joke."

"And I've a few words to say," Helen added, all fired up." These two set out to deliberately undermine what I was trying to do, going behind my back. There was a drugs testing regime and it's really funny how those least likely to have drugs smuggled in got tested."

This set off the Hollambys and Fenner in their most aggressive style and it took the harassed facilitator a lot of effort to finally get some quiet. Finally, a severe looking man dressed in a tweed jacket, smart tie and shirt intervened in the debate in his bookish manner. He had been fidgeting in a distracted fashion and had put up his hand to speak until he caught the eye of the facilitator. She figured that he would be the ideal speaker for the remit given to her by Sir Percy Thrower.

"I accept that these three prison officers have more experience of the prison system than the two ladies who spoke first but that's not the end of the matter. It's fair mindedness and the quality of experience that really matters, does it not? It strikes me that the three of you are being a little unfair."

A wonderful feeling of relief spread through Helen and Nikki as their guardian angel intervened wearing the most unlikely guise.

"I couldn't agree with you more. Nikki and I are firm believers in fairmindedness," Helen replied with her most winning smile.

"Yes but what about your crime, Ms Wade? I'm not comfortable with the fact that however meritorious you make yourself out to be, you killed a policeman. Surely the government has the right to ensure that violent crimes of all descriptions don't take place?" asked the typical Mrs Middle England character sitting next to the man.

"I quite agree. Wade was nothing but trouble all the time she was inside,"glowered Fenner.

"Society and people needs to ask the right questions rather than perpetuating the same blinkered thinking," Nikki responded patiently, having waited for that question to be posed."I don't deny what I did but what was brought out at my appeal that set me free is that the policeman concerned had form. First, his wife divorced him for mental and physical cruelty. Second, he went on to rape a female colleague, something that was covered up and she was driven out of the prison service. The police force seriously messed up in allowing him to continue on the beat as otherwise, I would never have got into trouble."

"I don't care what you say, Wade,"Bodybag proclaimed loudly."A con is a con is a con."

"I really object to your bigoted outlook," the Mrs Middle England woman protested loudly."This applies to you and all your friends. You've been rude and ignorant from the very start while Nikki and Helen have been most polite under severe provocation. If I were a prisoner in your care, I dare say that I'd protest against your attitude and I dare say I'd play you up. There's only so much people will put up with."

"We're all on your side," interjected the housewife again in a poor attempt at a stage whisper.

"Hear hear. It's plain to see that they are natural bullies," the tweed jacketed man proclaimed loudly and a murmur of assent ran round the group. Helen and Nikki sat transfixed in their seats. They couldn't believe their luck as the debate had tilted decisively and irrevocably in their favour at last.

It was just near lunchtime that they got to discuss the virtues or otherwise off the appeals procedure as either an impediment to prison life or as a safeguard and the prospects of juryless trials. Despite the look of distress on the facilitator's face, these ideas were kicked into touch, Nikki's unspoken example being at the back of their minds. Both women felt satisfied inside by this outcome, especially as their opponents had descended into vicious personal abuse, which gave the lie to their earlier protestations. They exchanged discreet smirks as this session confirmed their perception that some people never learn.


	55. Chapter 55

**Scene Fifty-Five**

Trisha stumbled out of the seminar room, eager for fresh air and to down a cup of hot coffee, however cheap the quality. What sustained her was the satisfaction of fighting her ding-dong battle with that stuffed shirt, Nick Rochester and just about keeping one step ahead of the game, especially as some of the others in her group had started to back her up. The man's tight-lipped expression and red face illustrated his boiling anger and confirmed the degree of success she'd struggled to achieve. Suddenly, she saw Helen and Nikki bounce their way into the hall from a sideroom, big grins all over their faces.

"Result," exclaimed Nikki triumphantly, grinning at their newfound allies who had found the discussion marvellously enlightening and feeling that they had really been taken out of themselves and their dull routines."Government lackeys zero, rebels united five. We thrashed them."

"Jesus, Trisha,"Helen said sympathetically, noticing the tiredness of her friend's manner."You look as if you'd been through a wringer. I'm sorry you've been there on your own."

"The opposition came off worst and that's the main thing," Trisha said with faint satisfaction."Want to hear my story?"

"Let's join the refreshment queue and then you talk," counter-suggested Helen.

A few minutes later, first Helen and then Nikki embraced and kissed their friend on her cheek in a way that suggested extravagent and dubious shows of affection to those of sensitive dispositions and sororial affection to the open-minded. John and Claire breezed up behind them with self satisfied looks of triumph on their faces, their friends knowing full well that they'd easily trampled over their opposition.

"Jesus wept, I've never lost my temper so many times for such a long time ," exclaimed Sally-Anne's voice behind the gathering group as it trudged forwards. It was obvious from her dishevelled appearance why she needed to blow off steam.

"That's because we've had our share of total reactionaries. They're so stuck in a timewarp of eighties political might as well go the whole hog and wear padded shoulders and 'I love Margaret Thatcher' stickers," came Jenny's snappy rejoinder. While John grinned freely at one of his favourite expressions being borrowed, the Bodybags glared at this collection of lesbian subversives together with the judge who'd mercilessly crushed them in a never to be forgotten private brawl. They started to worry that these troublemakers might seriously infect the tone of the conference and how would they explain that to the Governor?

.

"Where's Margaret got to?" Claire asked anxiously. While their friend had spoken splendidly in the earlier session, she suddenly became aware that she, like Trisha, had been left on her own. To her intense relief, Margaret trotted up, full of energy and definitely looking as if she had been enjoying herself. They became aware of the middle aged lady with long greying hair keeping her company who John remembered had sat next to him in the morning session.

"Might I introduce my friend Gemma to our company," Margaret said in expansive tones."We fought the good fight and I think we won. I wouldn't mind coming again to another event like this so log as the tea is up to stadard. I find it really mentally stimulating."

The twinkle in the eye of her new friend endeared itself to Gemma. In a second, she was psychically drawn into the company as the emotionally heightened feeling of fighting a common battle banished the traditional British reserve.

******

"That's funny," Gemma said later on to Helen as they moved away from the serving point, holding mugs of coffee and rolls and jam. "That fat guy who was chairing the meeting popped in and tried to tell us that all the other groups were all for locking up prisoners and turning the key on them. He didn't put it as crudely as that."

"He said the same as us though by then, we'd taken charge of the meeting," Helen replied, a trail of growing suspicion rising in her mind.

"He did the same in telling us that the 'customer experience' group wanted a police state," Sally Anne interjected in a puzzled tone of voice." We told him to piss off though we didn't put it as crudely as this."

John overheard the conversation and zeroed in on them, a cup and saucer full of coffee in one hand and a plate containing bread roll, a carton of jam and a portion of butter in the other. He put both objects down on the nearest table as a tide of anger started to rise up inside him. He was totally certain that one more conniving trick had been played on them. They had only found out because they had known each other beforehand, had been in different groups and had accidentally cross-checked with each other.

"Come to this side room all of you," John said in a low pitched tone of voice but one which commanded as much obedience as if he were on the judge's throne. He rapidly questioned each of his friends, laying on them the obligation to be absolutely precise as if their lives depended on it. Immediately he rushed out to the open air, as the women slowly grappled with the enormity of the swindle that the organisers had tried to perpetrate on them. The situation was extraordinarily hard to deal with, emotionally speaking as they had unconsciously still made assumptions on a basic standard of honesty. Deep seated ideas of fair play held sway even in the most politically sophisticated and cynical.

"Helen," called out Claire with a sense of real alarm." You fetch Nikki from outside to talk to him. She's the only one he'll listen to."

"Nikki?" queried Helen." She's the one person who's most like John. She has more of that capacity for anger at dishonesty than anyone else I know."

"That's just the point. Now go get her," Claire commanded. Helen realized that her old friend was absolutely right.

As Nikki was rushed away inside after stubbing her cigarette on the outside wall of the conference hall, she quickly got her head round the task that was custom made for her. The other followed on behind her.

"I'll kill him," hissed John, raging with anger, mimicking an upper cut to the jaw followed by a left hook. I'll get hold of him and beat him to a pulp if it's the last thing I do."

"Judge," she called out in urgent tones," I'm here to urge you not to carry out your threat to beat up Sir Percy Thrower."

"Why not?" insisted John in his reckless fashion." It would give me great satisfaction. I cannot stand the thought of the latest dirty trick he's pulled on us."

"I can- just about," insisted Nikki." Don't you know that I'm so much like you, John? I have exactly the same passions for justice as you have. The thing is that you believe you're immortal, that nothing can pull you down. I know different. You have to listen to me- please."

"You've never called me John before," John said as a faint cooling breeze started to cool down his overheated brain as he saw the tears in Nikki's eyes and felt her sense of panic.

"Everyone worries that you'll do something really rash one of these days even if it is the best of causes. Coope worries about you all the time, and if Helen and I knew as much about you as she does, we'd worry as well. You can't throw yourself recklessly like some kind of berserker Viking at them. We must fight them with our best weapon, the power of words. After all, that's what we're best at. We'll take him to pieces between us."

John felt a huge feeling of relief flow through him as his friend's wise words finally reached him. Impulsively, he embraced Nikki for a long time, a move which took her momentarily by surprise.

"You don't mind....." John asked, looking round in am embarrased fashion for a second.

"Of course not, John. You're a friend, aren't you. It's only natural," Nikki replied, warming to the man's unprecedented discomfort. John smiled warmly, feeling the strongest possible fraternal feeling for his comrade in arms and receiving a wealth of understanding from the women surrounding him, Helen especially.

"All right, everyone, I'll behave myself within reason but on one condition. Verbally speaking, that man's scalp is on my belt. Judge's privilege. You can help in the execution, of course."

The murmur of happy assent was answer enough. They strode out to do battle.

**************

When they took their places, they could see Sir Percy Thrower talking in an agitated fashion to the facilitators who had lost a lot of their natural glossy, unruffled look. John knew exactly what was in his mind, the fear of confessing failure to his lord and master Neil Haughton who couldn't get the idea of a failed enterprise through his head. Lawrence James who had consistently backed the plan was having serious second thoughts about whether this plan would enhance his career after all. With grim satisfaction, John could read their thoughts like a book. This time, John, Helen and Nikki were sitting next to each other by unspoken consent, being the best equipped to remonstrate loudly and forcibly. They were not going to count on getting their hands on a microphone and would consider the alternative of sheer lungpower. Finally, the restive rustle of voices died away as Sir Percy Thrower called 'one two' into the microphone, ostensibly to test the functioning but in reality to smooth the way to taking control of the meeting.

"Right, I hope you've had a chance to enjoy the refreshments laid on and also to socialize a bit within the lunch break. I hope also that we've all had the chance to express our concerns. The debates have been very interesting from what I've overheard and from what our facilitators have been telling me. This is the time in the programme when we need to firm up proposals a little. It seems that the main strands of thoughts that have run through the various groups is that people from various groups are really worried about rising crime, the growing discord in society and, let's face it, that people really don't feel as safe as they should feel. I mean, people should be able to exercise that absolute right and if they are unable to do so, then institutions of society ought to be reshaped

There was the feeling that those on the cutting edge of this problem are the policeman- and policewoman- on the beat, the prison officer, the judge buried under a workload who is at the center of problems of law and order. In the wider field, present culture is overly concerned for the rights of the criminal as opposed to those of the victim. Most important of all, the customer in many forms is our master, whether it is the voter, the consumer or those out there dealing with people in their many forms. To finally pull the strands of thinking which a lot of you are saying, the specific solutions which I hear you suggesting are juryless trials, the curtailment of needless and time wasting appeals, a tougher regime in prisons and an emphasis on law and order. These are thoughts that myself as Permanent Secretary in the Home Office and Lawrence James, circuit administrator in the Lord Chancellor's Department will be willing to take away and develop…………"

As this deceitful man finally started to wind up his address, Helen could stand it no more and she leapt to her feet. She had clean forgotten her promise to let the judge have first crack at this creep.

"That's far enough, whoever you are. This meeting agreed nothing of the kind. You are lying through your teeth. You and your fellow spin-doctors have tried to manipulate us from the very start of this meeting. This whole thing is a total fraud, a sham."

Helen's very powerful lungs carried over the top of the sound system which had been discreetly turned up to overpower any opposition. A murmur of discontent started to ripple round the hall as Helen gave the others their voice. John exchanged a meaningful glance with Nikki whose apologetic half-smile was perfectly understood by John. '_Well all right so Helen lost her rag but please will you behave yourself, judge. You worry me more than Helen does.' _ She could feel his amused reaction to Helen's prime instance of having her cake and eating it..

"I said that the main thrust of the ideas would be taken away and developed. Who knows, this could make a major news story," Sir Percy continued, appealing desperately to base emotions, to the desire for celebrity above all else.

"What my friend here has said is perfectly correct. I am presenting the alternative conclusions which the majority of us really feel," John cut in, accustomed, as he was to carry his voice to the remoter corners of a courtroom. He managed to effortlessly project his melodious tones and, thanks to Nikki's earlier help, felt both centred and powerful.

"We feel that the central cornerstone of society, be it family, friendship, or institution can be summed up by two simple words, trust and reason. What should be considered is not why some people break the law or commit antisocial acts but why so many people don't. Where people can see a reason why certain events happen, then people will be inclined to accept its legitimacy. I understand that eloquent testimony has been given how the prison service has fallen down on that job and it is so obvious that there will be those who will rebel against unjust authority. The police rightly have a difficult job in today's society but there have been cases where individuals have behaved unjustly and corruptly and they drag down the reputation of the organization as a whole. In my field as a judge, I am highly aware that major institutions of society are peopled by control freaks who seek to control every aspect of what goes on in society. They simply cannot be trusted with the powers, which they slaver after like any drug addict, craving for their next fix. What should become rooted in society are basic standards of honesty and human decency………."

John's calm, slow moving stream of words carried all before it like an unstoppable flow of lava from a volcano and when he stopped for a pause, a loud cheer rang from parts of the audience as his eloquent call to morality showed up by contrast the chicanery of the establishment, as exemplified by those trapped on the top table or the faceless facilitators, holding mute microphones, saying nothing. Finally, John rounded into his conclusion with a harder edge in his voice. A thrill ran through the systems of his friends who knew that John would hit home with all his strength of will.

"Lastly, in the wider field, I lay great stress on the 'can we get away with it' culture, which has done unspeakable damage to this society. The conduct of this meeting exemplifies this. It is deliberate, calculating, cynical and deceitful and I feel that I have been bathing in slime. To quote Winston Churchill, 'Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting,' Come on, let's get out of here."

John's friends stood up and applauded loudly, their hearts swelling inside with jubilation. Their struggles throughout the day had been justly rewarded. They took it on themselves to gesture to the rest of the audience. As luck had it, Trisha had been at the end of the row and she smiled wryly to herself to find that she was leading an increasingly larger procession as they started to file out of the hall. They were joined by the bolder, more rebellious members of the audience and more and more of them followed their , only a small minority of the conference remained in the hall, consisting of the hard core reactionaries who were livid with anger but impotent to frame their thoughts.

.

Livid with anger, Sir Percy Thrower got off the back of the stage and reached for his mobile while Lawrence James met him.

"We have to cancel the press coverage immediately. We can't get away with claiming that those left represent the views of the conference. The tabloid press will be sure not to let this rank subversion cover the front page but we have to work on the some of the less reliable broadsheets. The same goes for TV coverage."

"What are they going to write about instead?" queried Lawrence James with his logical, pedantic mind.

"Oh you know, some celebrity expose. You know what they said about government in Ancient Rome, that it was about bread and circuses. We need to limit the damage, that's all."

What was starting to bother him most was what he was going to say to Neil Haughton. Even his ability to fudge and obscure meanings would be tested to the limit and he would be the one on whom Haughton would expend his malignant temper.

"Oh Jesus. I've never seen anything like this in my life, judge. Your idea of protest is, well, colossal," exclaimed Nikki as they stopped a little bit away from the hall and saw such a large proportion of the audience pour out like a river. Secretly, she'd worried that John had miscalculated his move and only the braver spirits would join their lead, while the more cautious spirits would stay with the reactionaries. Instead, this moment had the feeling of a mini-revolution, a splendid act of defiance. As they stood there, one person after another came up to them to thank them or shake their hand for saying what they wanted to say. They felt very special as it felt as if the universe centred on them.

"So what do we do now? We can't let this day just fizzle away and return to dreary normality," questioned Margaret as they stood together in a group and a strange feeling of peaceful silence descended on them, suffusing the harshness of their struggles. It felt as if a long time had elapsed until the crowds had dispersed and gone their separate ways, talking over the momentous events of the day. Inwardly, adrenaline was still flowing freely through their systems, washed down by generous measures of emotions that the cold word, 'bonding' didn't begin to do justice to describe. The nearest they could get to describe their feelings was of a strange out of body experience.

"You're quite right. We should go on somewhere else and enjoy the pleasure of our success- in strictly sororial fashion," added Helen, eager for some kind of mark in the occasion.

"So everyone's welcome back at my place," said the older woman. It was the obvious thing to do." You too, Gemma unless you have somewhere else to go."

The bright smile on the other woman's face announced that this was the ideal solution as to what to do next. It was still only mid afternoon and the sun was shining brightly on them all.

They made their way back to the same multistory car park, which they remembered arriving at, such an incredibly long time ago. They had been shut up inside that hall and it took time for them to get their bearings in the outside world. Soon the cars were streaming in a direction that was now familiar and Gemma was the latest to stare wide-eyed at the large mansion and the richness of colours, shapes and textures inside. It took her into another world where time hung suspended except for the purposeful way that cold salad and tea was rustled up. They sat round the long mahogany dining room table for ease and moved into the living room where Margaret reclined on the ornamental chaise-longue, which had long outlasted decades gone by. She felt good about herself, especially surrounded by so many dear friends of hers. She knew that they weren't the only souls present in her room.

"So how did we get into such an authoritarian society?" John said in reflective tones." I've probably said before that I'm a child of the sixties and I confess to being nostalgic for that period, probably as the world felt so full of fresh promise."

"I've watched black and white footage from the period but, deep down, I feel uncomfortable in trying to feel second hand experiences that I've not lived," replied Nikki.

"You ought to know, Gemma, that we've gathered here many times when Margaret has told us fascinating stories of her passionate and unrestrained past so that her forties is like John's sixties. You'd be surprised what went on- it's just that it isn't in the history books or the film archives," Trisha said eagerly. Nikki smiled warmly at how more passionate her old friend was about these cultural matters than she'd ever known her to be.

"I'd love to hear about it sometime as I'm a bit of an amateur historian but we need to know and feel how we got here. Margaret's the oldest so we ought to hear it from her."

"You mean it?" the older woman answered in doubting tones." Looking back on it, I doubt if Julia and I were the right side of the barricades."

"You know we'd love to hear from you. After today, we are specially likely to face up to ourselves honestly," Helen said fervently. Their friend acquiesced as what else could she do and so gravitational pull of travelling back in time had everyone in its sway.


	56. Chapter 56

**Scene Fifty Six **

Somehow, the events of the day had made it easy for the audience to tune into how Julia and Margaret moved uncertainly into the nineteen sixties, dispelling the version of history that was up on the TV screen. They felt the split that had opened up in the lives of these two women as they came to live so intensely for their holidays when they became sun-tanned and blessed by the vitality of life. What happened when they came back home was a let down by comparison.

Only their mementoes, like the grey Greek statuettes of naked women reminded them of who they were, where they had gone as did the portrait that was hung up on the living room wall. While they lived at home, the leaves fell off the trees, the winter gales blew, the tulips peeped through the winter blasted earth till the leaves grew again and the years rolled along much like each other. To their eyes, the only changes in the streets of Hampstead were the first newfangled small supermarkets that opened up, the solitary Wimpey bar that was the area's sole concession to youth culture. The most noticeable change was the increasing traffic on the roads, which made it harder work to manoeuvre their large Bentley round the streets of London. Somehow, the pace of life outside their mansion was becoming more causelessly frenetic and they were feeling more detached than ever from the modern world.

Not wanting to be complete social outcasts, they finally bought an ordinary black and white television set to give them an indistinct window to the world. All it did was to emphasize how strange changes were taking place in the world outside them. There was a sense of an endless chase into the sunset for the next fashion trend and the one after that. Both women were left bewildered, disorientated at the new young turbulent kids on the block. The trouble was that they felt that life was passing them by.

"I can't understand these long haired youths on television with their electric guitars," complained Julia vociferously at the television set." Why do they have to be so loud? Why can't they sing clearly?"

"Darling, for the first time since I've ever known you, you are beginning to sound like my mother. You be careful," Margaret said, that mischievous spark, undimmed by time and the long wearying years of spiritual endurance.

"You beast," exclaimed Julia playfully, her mood suddenly changing just as her lover had reasoned. There was a disturbing undertone in Julia's dark mood that worried her.

"I know exactly what you're thinking, darling. You're asking why isn't someone singing our song?"

Julia looked intently into the face of her lover and very dear friend and a wave of pure affection broke over her. Even if the grey hairs were becoming more noticeable and her face was becoming more lined, her spirit was just as she had first remembered. Come to think of it, her own hair was losing that bright blond quality and a few frown lines were appearing on her forehead. She leaned forward to tenderly embrace Margaret in her thankfulness.

It was on another night when they had exhausted their enthusiasm for reread favourite books of their youth when the black and white screen betrayed four young men wearing their hair in fringes. One of them was singing more tunefully and melodically than was the fashion and both of them quite liked the romanticism of his song. They saw his friend with a big arrogant grin on his face step forward and speak into the microphone.

"On this next number I want you all to join in. Would those in the cheap seats clap your hands. The rest of you can rattle your jewellery."

Both women sat up straight in their seats as the group went straight into what seemed like primitive African rhythms, both in the singing and the instrumentation. One part of them was inclined to bristle at what seemed like a personal attack on them while their irreverence towards the Royal Family provoked a sneaking sympathy.

"That youth's got a damned cheek," exploded Julia indignantly, before her mood slipped sideways into wry, unashamed humour. "I mean I like your jewellery. It gives you style."

"That's just the point, darling. At least this young man is an original and he's got nerve. We could do more of his kind," observed Margaret.

"But he's still not singing our song."

"And he's still a man," added Margaret, guessing her partner's reservations.

It was another night when they were watching television when a casually dressed man more their age strolled onto the stage and started to sing this song as a childlike ditty with a repetitive plucked note on his guitar at the end of each chorus. It curiously took them back to their memories of Jeanne playing her bouzouki for them in a far off Greek villa. They could hear the background chiming notes behind this man's plain acoustic strumming. .

"Little boxes on the hillside,  
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,  
Little boxes on the hillside,  
Little boxes all the same.  
There's a green one and a pink one  
And a blue one and a yellow one,  
And they're all made out of ticky tacky  
And they all look just the same."

It nagged for their attention even though the childlike nursery song quality was faintly irritating.

"Wait, let's hear him finish his song," Margaret said, placing her forefinger across her partner's open lips to still that dismissive impatient expression on her face.

"And the people in the houses  
All went to the university,  
Where they were put in boxes  
And they came out all the same,  
And there's doctors and lawyers,  
And business executives,  
And they're all made out of ticky tacky  
And they all look just the same."

Both women's eyes opened wide and slow smiles spread across their faces as they heard the storyline take an interesting turn. They were transfixed by this next verse and its elaboration. Now they got it.

"This is getting there," breathed Julia. She certainly understood and felt this misleadingly innocent attack on today's conformist spirit.

"This man is singing our song. He's what they call these days a 'protest singer' isn't he? I read about them in the Times even if the reviewer was very snooty in his description of them. The nastier he got in that well bred fashion, the more I felt that there must be something right about them," Margaret expounded, that same twinkle in her eye that there ever had been. Her sharp wits had recalled the friendly eccentrics they had met near Washington Park including the untidy looking young man who they'd seen who had become the famous protest singer, Bob Dylan.

"So what do we do about it? I hate being an onlooker, so passive, so unnatural. From all our journeys north, south, east and west, I refuse to adopt that traditional British 'stiff upper lip. For a start, it doesn't fit in with my cigarette holder," Julia exclaimed with an onrush of pent up emotion, which made her partner giggle helplessly.

"Perhaps our turn will come," Margaret replied hopefully.

"It had better do so. I'm getting more tired of life than I want to be," sighed Julia. Her partner made no answer.

"What was that strange barefoot woman walking down the street, wearing those cowboy type trousers, that short sleeved buttonless shirt and a bell round her waist?" Julia asked Margaret quizzically, a few years later when they were out walking along Hampstead's main street . She wore long brown flowing tresses in a style that was new to them and the chiming of her bell made a not unpleasant sound as she casually strolled away to the far horizon on the hot sunny July day. Having been in the other end of public surveillance for years, both women were sensitive enough not to stare.

"I think they're called hippies, darling. The general idea is to return to a state of nature, to turn their back on the material world. They take drugs as well," elucidated Margaret who studied modern developments with the aid of her own cultural antenna and the Sunday Times. "This explains the long hair- for both men and women."

"Hmmn, I've got mixed views on both, darling," Julia commented questioningly." For a start, how can I despise what my parents left us? I have absolutely no desire for abject poverty."

"At least they're sincere," Margaret murmured, feeling the summer sun beat down on her and the feel of her loose fitting dress." Let's face it, we're not finding it any easier to understand what's going on in the world."

As if to illustrate her point, both women noticed a couple of women wearing trouser suits arm in arm with their husbands. Julia's look was starting to blend into the scenery in a strange way but the fact that these women were obviously straight gave Julia a funny feeling. She felt that the look that she had perfected years ago was being sold right back at her to empty it of meaning. Reading her thoughts, the darkish haired woman hugged her partner's arm close to her to make them both feel real.

Presently, they arrived at the newsagent where the woman behind the counter smiled broadly at two of the more colourful characters of the area. They had an unquenchable sense of style and were polite enough. They chatted briefly and picked up their copy of the Times when Margaret's mouth opened with amazement.

The bold headline "Who breaks a butterfly on the wheel?" stared boldly at the two women along with a photograph of two young men with coarse features and unruly hair. Even they had heard of the most notorious of modern groups and how these young men who had been apparently caught at a drugs party. Surprisingly, the journalist appeared to be siding with them. It made Margaret study the newspaper intensely, Julia looking over her shoulder. There was more in this than met the eye.

"In the courts at large it is most uncommon for imprisonments to be imposed on first offenders where the drugs are not major drugs of addiction and there is no question of drug traffic. The normal penalty is probation, and the purpose of probation is to encourage the offender to develop his career, and to avoid the drug risks in future. It is surprising that Judge Block should have decided to sentence Mr Jagger to imprisonment, and particularly surprising as Mr Jagger's is as mild a drugs case as can ever have been brought before the Courts."

It would be wrong to speculate on the judge's reasons, which we do not know. It is possible to consider the public reaction. There are many people who take a primitive view of the matter. They consider that Mr Jagger has 'got what was coming to him' They resent the anarchic quality of the Rolling Stones' performances, dislike their songs, dislike their influence on teenagers and broadly suspect them of decadence."

"Hmmn, they got away with it this time," grumbled the young man behind the counter. The two women turned round and were surprised that he was much younger than he looked as he was wearing the smart suit, white shirt and striped tie of someone older than his years. His shoes were carefully shined and polished.

"It's not right. Those long-haired ruffians should get what's coming to them. What on earth is this country coming to?"

"You might as well say that the country's going to the dogs," Julia instantly chimed in, already starting to dislike him intensely. There was nothing like a dose of stiff-necked pomposity to make Julia take the other side. The irony of it was that Julia remembered, years ago when drugs had been consumed by the high society 'inner' circle and nowadays the world seems to be openly awash with them. She knew that she could never get this prim young man to accept these uncomfortable truths, least of all in a public place.

.'

Margaret was studying this young man closely. There was something about the man's features that seemed familiar. All at once, the features of their dear friend, Olivia came to mind. She remembered her description of her brother's family years ago when the painting that hung up in their living room came to be painted. She got to the point straightaway.

"I know you, young man. Your age is about right. You're the nephew of our dear friend Olivia Rochester, aren't you?"

The young man's delicate skin blushed a pretty pink and looked ready to sink through the floor. There he was, just on the point of going up to Oxford University with his parent's blessing if his 'A' level grades were good enough. He had swotted away the months applying himself in a frenzy of energy, always striving to do the right thing when the family curse came back to haunt him. These two women who interrogated him were irreverent, irreligious and as dangerous in their outlook as these scruffy pop stars in the papers. Their unconventionality laughed in his face, mockingly challenging his prim and proper strict definitions. It was as if this primal fear of freedom and what it meant never left the young man in his future life, even when he became Sir Ian Rochester, head of the Lord Chancellor's Department.

After reading the paper, both women were able to successfully steer their way past the right thinking politics just as they had thumbed their nose at the sexual repressiveness of previous decades.

*****

It was three years later and a few more grey hairs down the line when the decade turned the door into the 1970s. Margaret called at the same newsagent and, automatically picking up a newspaper, saw a picture of a glamorously dressed young woman with abundant flowing blond hair and heavy makeup round her eyes. They recognized her at once as Dusty Springfield who sang emotional ballads very tunefully in a way that spoke of their experiences and their friends if only the offstage man in the songs weren't present. They were starting to pick up on the stream of cultural changes that were running through society like a fast-rushing torrent. When they folded open the broadsheet, both women's eyes lit up with astonishment at the boldness of one paragraph.

"A lot of people say I'm bent, and I've heard it so many times that I've almost learned to accept it....I know I'm perfectly as capable of being swayed by a girl as by a boy. More and more people feel that way and I don't see why I shouldn't**."**

"That woman's saying something like what we think at last except that I wouldn't dream of using the word bent nor have I ever thought twice about which sex I preferred," breathed Julia. At last society was turning around in their direction.

"What she really means is that more and more people are coming out with what we've felt and said all along except that she's saying it publicly. I admire her courage in going this far," observed Margaret.

. It was with mixed views that they began to make the acquaintance of what was called 'Women's Lib' with this unfortunate modern tendencies for abbreviations. Still, beggars couldn't afford to be that choosy..


	57. Chapter 57

Scene Fifty Seven

A very emotional experience in Julia and Margaret's lives that questioned their basic self-belief was led off by a perfectly trivial incident.. It was sometime in the mid 1970s that Julia had merely gone to pay the newspaper bill at the local shop when a leaflet on the counter caught her eye. It said 'Fed up with your role in life? Want to meet women who want to change their lives together with other women? Join us to find out how it can be done. Another world is possible." It grabbed her imagination immediately.

"Do you fancy doing something completely different, darling?" Julia suggested, sliding her arm affectionately round her lover's shoulders and placing a copy of the notice under her eyes. "We are stuck in a rut. We need to get out and find what the real world is doing. This may be the answer to our prayers."

As she had guessed, Margaret's natural impetuousness hadn't deserted her. After years of living out of sync with the society they were stuck with, both women felt as if they were spiritually choking. Without thinking, they dressed in their normal outfits and, in their grandest style, drove down in their Bentley to the modest brick red Victorian two-story building, set a little distance away from the main road. Once through the solid open door and down the rambling corridor, they found themselves there just in time to seat themselves on very small cramped chairs, reminiscent of their far off schooldays. It was only when they looked round when they saw that they were by far the oldest women there. The others were all in their early twenties and thirties, dressed casually in denims and T-shirts while the speaker wasn't much older. Margaret's flowing dress and Julia's elegant trouser suit and immaculate shirt stuck out like a milestone.

It wasn't so much the lecture that made such an impact on their lives but what happened afterwards. The particular academic style and intense presentation made them feel very slow witted and inadequate by comparison, while all the others were easily absorbing the ideas along with the haze of cigarette smoke. They initially felt as if they had descended from a spaceship from Mars into foreign territory. As time went on, they concentrated hard and just about got the gist of what speaker was saying. What mortified them most of all was that, that for the last few years, they had been inadvertently defined as gay without their knowledge retrospectively for decades before the word was invented. In their world, gay meant fun loving, happy go lucky, something they were quite willing to own up to in good times.

For a reason none of them could work out, the speaker homed in on them when the formal part of the meeting gave way to standing around socializing with tea and biscuits. She was an intensely passionate slim young woman who wore a denim jacket and tight blue jeans. Her hair was thick and dark and flowed down past her shoulders. Her nose was straight and thin while her eyebrows frowned slightly at the world. They shaded her intense brown eyes, which were framed by round wire rimmed glasses. She looked straight at Julia with disconcerting intensity.

"We feel that the only way to confront gay oppression is to meet it head on, to 'come out' If you take courage and believe in yourself, you'll find that there's nothing to fear, especially when you are supported by a caring sisterhood. Believe me, if you get out on the streets and demonstrate your identity, the feeling is so intense and liberating. You realize that you are part of a crowd along with your spiritual sisters, marching down the streets. You know that you are all together, not just some isolated freak of nature. To hold your lover's hand, even to embrace her feels wonderfully natural and normal. We are women and loving other women is beautiful and something we should never be ashamed of. I really feel that society is beginning to loosen up. The nineteen sixties has seen a succession of international protest movements for all sorts of civil rights. Now it's our turn."

"I've never been sure to sure what to make of your movement from what I read in the papers. I'm basically sympathetic to feminism but some of the publicity hasn't been helpful," offered Margaret as a cautious opening gambit, not being sure where the academic debate placed her and Julia in the great scheme of things.

"Surely you must see how miles away from reality are the hostile media fictions of feminism, of burning your bra and all that sort of rubbish. Just take a look at the women all around you. They look normal. Their game is all about reduction by trivialization," came the persuasive response.

"I'm glad to hear that, darling. My only problem is that I've never been very good at going on public demonstrations," Julia replied in more aristocratic tones than she felt comfortable with in contrast with the younger woman naked heartfelt emotions. She knew straightaway that this woman deserved a better response from her artificial and mannered reply so she tried to remedy her mistake." That has never stopped me being proud of my sexuality, I assure you."

"My experience has been in one woman demonstrations," Margaret insisted more positively. "I come from a Northern town and I was disowned by my family when the neighbourhood Nosy Parker saw Julia and I kissing passionately. She was staying in a local hotel when we first met and instantly won my heart. When I had an almighty row with my mother, or more precisely, she picked the argument with me, I told her also about my first love whom I slept with when we were both fourteen. I thought I might as well be hanged for a sheep as well as a lamb. Julia and I packed our bags and came to London and never looked back. Our problem is that we've been through enough in our time without taking on any more struggles."

The girl was caught up in a perfect kaleidoscope of emotions at this response. On the one hand, she blinked with amazement at the frank confession of this older woman, her elaborate manners cast aside by this flash of emotion. Her revelation of coming out so early made her look and sound much younger than her appearance suggested. On the other hand, Julia's aristocratic manner of dressing looked backdated while Margaret's slightly graying hair and her manners had the superficial feel of being leftover from a previous generation. When the speaker looked more closely, this older woman was dressed in a way very similarly to her lover who wore her flowing 'maxi dress' in the modern 'nature woman' style. She was standing to one side and shyly admiring her forward thinking, fearless lover. The speaker felt intimidated by the weight of experience emanating from Margaret and Julia and angry at their final rejection of her thesis. This served to fuel her anger, as was her habit when feeling inwardly insecure. In turn, Margaret regretted, too late, her tactless closing comment. She had meant to say that the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak but the words didn't come out that way.

"So why didn't your generation of lesbians do as we're doing?" pursued their interviewer." Surely there were enough of you. Just why did you cop out and stay in the closet?"

"Why indeed?" Julia murmured reflectively, her eyes misting over with bittersweet memories of the past. Her mind went back to old friends, now long parted and gone their separate ways and their dear friends, Virginia and Olivia, still somewhere out there.

"If I think of it, the greatest freedom we ever had was during the war," Margaret explained, trying to control her own emotions and talk reasonably." The men were away in uniform and they needed women to do jobs that had been confined to men. Julia drove an ambulance during the blitz before we met. Another friend of ours, Olivia Rochester, ferried aircraft. You'd be surprised what we got up to. We had our role models who we could look up, something left out in your speech, learned as it was. We were young and daring then."

The snort of derision and blast of impatience caused Julia to flare up in anger.

"There was such a thing as a war on. A fat lot of good it would have done to have a demonstration down Pall Mall even if we could have organized it."

"The war?" questioned their interrogator as these two women pressed all the wrong buttons." Wasn't everyone all gung ho patriotic and right behind Churchill? Surely it's obvious what part of the male anatomy that the gun is a symbol of."

"You're being very superficial," Julia said shortly, a touch of anger in her voice, secretly acknowledging the woman's general point." My brother Philip flew fighter aircraft in the last war. He did his duty and paid for it with his life. He was shot down in flames. As it happens, I was very proud and fond of him as he accepted my sexuality at a time in my life when I needed all the acceptance I could get. I still miss him."

"So you're a closet militarist as well. I might have known you'd react that way when pressed. Your liberalism is just a sham."

"Haven't you been listening? He was a very kind-hearted man who was very accepting of Julia and I when he didn't have to be. It was very unusual for a man to react that way, believe you me. We both quickly learned to cut down to size some ignorant lout who felt threatened by me gadding about with this androgynous woman. In being obviously paired with another woman, I was rejecting men in the same way that Julia dressed. Her look was pretty avant garde, if not dangerous and subversive, I can assure you."

The younger woman looked into Margaret's eyes and felt her long smouldering anger rise to the surface. She realized that, like Julia, her anger wasn't really directed at her at all. The problem was that she was too wound up to deal properly with this revelation.

"Oh yeah? Very militant, I'm sure."

"Why are you so angry? You have every right to be but it might not be the best way of dealing with life." Margaret intervened rapidly. She had regained control of herself, having felt this unsettling nervous tension emanating from this woman.

"It's a long story. It goes back to when I was little. Don't ask me for the details. I'm not asking for sympathy," she replied in a tight hard tone of voice, suddenly thrown by this perceptive shaft of sympathy. She hadn't expected this woman seeing right into her. Julia and Margaret knew immediately that this spoke of a vulnerability that they couldn't in all decency intrude upon.

"We wouldn't dream of doing that. It wouldn't be fair. Parting with intimate details sometimes isn't easy."

All three women exhaled their breath to get over the intensity of emotion that had gradually spiralled upwards in this ding-dong argument. Julia reached for a cigarette, jammed it in her holder and lit up. She saw the sneaking look of admiration that crossed the younger woman's face before being instantly suppressed. This aristocratic gesture lacked street credibility but was stylishly attractive at the same time. It tested the conflict between her political views and her personal aesthetics. It was Margaret that finally broke the ice.

"Let us all calm down and try and be civilized with each other……..Getting back to your original point, the real problem is that we never had the organization to work round as you now have. That makes a real difference. The most we could have done was to get together with phone and letter. All right, I agree that we didn't do all we could have done. Looked from such harsh modern judgments as yours, we failed you."

The young woman's anger finally dissipated. She suddenly saw two women who had tried their best, not representatives of the bourgeoisie as she had first pegged them when they first caught her eye. They momentarily looked old and worn down by life. A rush of sympathy finally rose to the surface.

"It's like this. I don't want to spend a lifetime living underground like you both did. I'm young and I can't stand the thought of getting old and apologizing for who and what I am for the rest of my life. Once you've 'come out' of the closet, you never want to go back. I would rather die than do that."

The passionate sincerity of this woman moved Margaret and Julia deeply. They sensed an undertone of pain and anguish behind the woman's words and a flicker of expression on her face. It cried out to their own catalogue of setbacks over the years. The trouble was that this young woman wasn't at peace with herself or was it the case that they had become old and tired? They recoiled from labelling this woman as strident as this would have sold short her very real sincerity. It was simply that she was struggling to find her own identity.

"The truth of the matter is that while we may have problems in dealing with the way you're trying to put over your views, then all right, we're feminists too. Everything you've said in your talk in being out and proud makes a lot of sense to us, doesn't it darling?" Julia said in determined tones before archly turning to her lover who slipped her hand in hers in agreement." I respect, no I admire your willingness and your sense of commitment. It's all very admirable. In fact, I quite fancy the idea of coming on a demonstration. It sounds attractive and would do us good, that is if there is a place for us."

The two women's spirits started to rise in anticipation at this alluring prospect. Long suppressed feelings of spiritual loneliness came up to the surface and feelings of pain were relived, in particular, the time when Virginia and Olivia emigrated. Both women inhaled and exhaled their breath in anticipation only to see the truth written on the face of their newfound friend. Their spirits sank immediately.

"I'm afraid that you two ladies missed out. The march was last Saturday. This meeting was intended as a launch for future cell meetings," their friend confessed sadly. She really did wish it were otherwise and if only fate had somehow drawn these two irregular members of the Gay Liberation Movement into their circle.

"Oh that's such a pity," Margaret said softly while Julia couldn't trust herself to speak. Life was cruel in raising their hopes only to dash them.

"Are you interested in coming to our regular meetings, are you? It does mean hard work and commitment. I'd be kidding you otherwise."

"We'd be hypocrites if we said we were," Margaret confessed sadly and honestly before continuing on a brisker note." Still if you're organizing another demonstration, that would be a start."

"We really admire your commitment. I mean someone has to do it," Julia interjected, feeling utterly wretched, as she knew that Margaret had spoken the truth. She knew very well that soon they'd be back in their mansion, mentally cheering these younger women on from the sidelines when their gut root inclination was to be where the action was.

"I can't think of any other way of living than being upfront about who I am, what I represent. Look here, even if we never meet again, I won't forget you for putting me right on a few things, nor will the rest of the sisters if I have my way," their friend said awkwardly. She knew very well that her well-meaning attempt to make these two very individualistic women feel better had failed dismally. The taste of such failure tasted bitter in her mouth and now she was beginning to feel what these two women had felt for years. Somehow the chance of them mentally connecting was slipping through their fingers, against their will.

Impulsively, she kissed them awkwardly each on the cheek in farewell and her brown eyes looked soulfully at them before returning to her friends Margaret thought angrily of her estranged sister and niece who had once visited them, sponged off them and disappeared. This young woman might have been their daughter.

The tragedy was that when they got home, they realized that they had forgotten to find out her name. It was a moment both women bitterly regretted in later years. Unknown to them, the younger woman felt exactly the same and it haunted her if only she hadn't started out being such a total shit, life could have been so different for all of them.


	58. Chapter 58

**Scene Fifty Eight**

The full intensity of that particular period had been felt and seen in full cinemascope and now it gradually faded before the eyes of the assembled group as they returned to the present. The overwhelming poignancy came to the fore as they could all see both sides of the argument, Margaret included. She felt that her version of history was warmly validated by the spirit presence amongst the crowd.

"That's exactly what happened, Margaret. I remember it so vividly as if it were yesterday," spoke up an unexpected voice amongst them. Instantly, Margaret adjusted her perceptions, did a double take of past memories and present perceptions and this time, she made the connection.

"So it was you all the time?" Margaret said slowly at words expressed the kaleidoscope of emotions, both present and past. Her friend smiled ruefully and thought it only right and proper to fully introduce herself.

"In case some of you didn't get my full name, I'm Gemma Hewitt, lesbian feminist always but I hope older and more understanding than I used to be. I really gave you a hard time at that meeting. I've bitterly regretted every single word I said," she added with a tremor in her voice. The smile of understanding she received from the older woman slowly coursed through her layers of deep-rooted sense of guilt from over the years.

"Did the two of you ever run across each other again before today?" Helen asked, her curiosity fully engaged." You must have both lived in the same area of London, give or take a few miles." Both Gemma and Margaret sadly shook their heads in response.

"The movement were involved in all sorts of things in those days. Might I take up the story Margaret?" asked Gemma in very respectful tones.

"By all means," came the courteous reply which warmed Gemma's heart. She was now in her element with that urgent wish to tell the truth, no matter which way it pointed. Helen immediately sensed that Gemma had a historian mode of talking in a way that fitted the situation."We all felt we were travelling at a hundred miles an hour, impatient to change the world, to brush aside anything that stood in our way," she added in more reflective tones." For instance, I went on local radio as the archetypal lesbian feminist and was more or less put under the microscope as some exotic alien species by the smarmy man who was running the show. He really had it in for me and kept on pushing and prodding me about my personal life and made me feel guilty for my very existence. Somewhere out of nowhere, the memory of a quote by Dusty Springfield came straight out of nowhere, the archetypal lesbian fighting against her Irish Catholic background and I started talking as if I were her. I remember talking of people on the streets giving me funny looks and started saying. 'I mean, people say that I'm gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, gay. I'm not anything. I'm just ... People are people.... I basically want to be straight.... The catchphrase is: I can't love a man.' I remember getting very hysterical and screaming this out."

"Gemma, I've been there before. I know what it's like to be gripped in some kind of emotional freakout and wondering afterwards,' Jesus, why did I say that?'" Nikki intervened sympathetically. Helen squeezed Nikki's hand, realizing that she was talking of rockier moments in their shared past.

"Thanks, Nikki. That helps me a lot," Gemma said to this younger woman with a wealth of tenderness in her voice. She saw that Nikki looked and sounded so much like she used to be. "Well, that disaster certainly put paid to me being considered radio friendly. Local radio want nice controlled composed reaction, not some hysterical female spilling her guts out to local listeners, metaphorically speaking. In any case, the sisters never gave me another chance of going on local radio. I'd well and truly blown it."

"I heard you," breathed Margaret, as memory dawned. "Julia and I were listening to that radio programme. We did wonder if it was you."

"So we did make contact after all and with your partner as well," Gamma breathed, a light shining in her eyes. She had never dared to hope that she would have been that fortunate.

"Just when was that radio broadcast, just as a matter of interest? I do have a thing for precision, for order of events," Helen interjected with a wry smile at her well-known personality quirk, which, after all, did help to get the narrative down just right.

"Well, since we're going down memory lane together, I'd guess that it was nineteen seventy nine, so you know that this was the time when all good feminists got what they finally thought they wanted, a female prime minister," Gemma said in her unique droll tones, edged with bitter sarcasm.

The room was rent apart by loud explosions of protests. Both Nikki and Helen hooted with laughter and their more soprano tones competed with John who roared with incredulous laughter.

"Margaret bloody Thatcher," Trisha breathed "I was at school when I watched her on television. She gave me the creeps."

" I remember that period as a rather catchy song kept going round in my head, saying something like you don't know what you've got till it's gone," Margaret said diffidently, feeling her way through a medium that she wasn't entirely familiar with." Julia and I did finally listen and understand some of the songs that were written in the nineteen sixties you know," she added with a touch of defiance.

"Oh, that's 'Big Yellow Taxi' by Joni Mitchell," said Jenny brightly." I love that kind of music." Immediately, she started to sing in surprisingly pure tones considering her North Country accent, clapping her hands to generate the choppy rhythms of the song. Instinctively, Claire joined in followed by Gemma, whose warm happy smile showed the release from her pain in this sisterly gathering.

'Don't it always seem to go  
That you don't know what you've got  
Till it's gone  
They paved paradise  
And put up a parking lot.'

As they came to the end of the song, a feeling of gloom and depression settled on them all. The truth of that song, post-dated down the line, became painfully clear to them as the grim reality of the eighties hit them. In all the relived depression that fell upon them all, it was Nikki who posed the awkward question.

"What gets to me is this. I was fifteen when she became Prime Minister and I was already starting to find my feet, politically speaking. As I've got older, it's bugged me more and more just how come that woman was ever let in out of the cold? Why wasn't she and her kind laughed out of existence if everyone had been so liberated and hip in the sixties? For God's sake, Margaret and her rebel kind were around before then. Why the hell was she voted in not once, not twice, but three times?"

A real feeling of blackness descended upon them all. It was no use saying that, no they weren't individually to blame but somehow, this disaster came to be. Finally John

felt that it was incumbent on him as much as anyone to steer the conversation into a different direction. He felt strongly that despairing about the mistakes of the past wasn't going to help anyone.

"I used to read bedtime stories to my daughter Charlie when she was a little girl. She's twenty one now so she mercifully never went through what we all did," John intervened into the proceedings."I used to tell her that if she didn't settle down to sleep, the big bad monster would come and gobble her up. She was always very willful even then but I hadn't the heart to tell her that the monster was really Margaret Thatcher. That would have traumatized her for life."

At one, everyone burst into uproarious laughter by the deadpan delivery of John's story. Bless the man, thought so many gay women, who had come to think so affectionately of his sterling qualities that he'd displayed so courageously.

"I really don't know the answer, Nikki. I suppose the right wing press used to bang on about trade unions being evil incarnate, about Loony Left councils and all that. Islington council used to get a real hammering from the Daily Mail and the Sun and all the dreadful things they were supposed to be doing. I used to work for a feminist collective called "Spare Rib' and we were eternally grateful for the financial assistance of what was then called the Greater London Council. Needless to say, Thatcher abolished the GLC basically because it was too left wing. I've even got an old copy of magazine here from the old days," Gemma added as she fished it out in her briefcase and placed it in Margaret's inquisitive hands. She had remained quiet, listening intently to this highly interesting treatise on a period from which she had shrunk away with a sense of revulsion. Her younger friends leaned over her shoulder and what grabbed their attention was the striking purple tinted rural portraiture of a woman in profile wearing a long dress, holding a basket of potatoes. The caption in the middle "Victorian Values- We Are Not Amused" hit them in the eye.

The women grinned widely at the outrageous subscription advert on the back page where one Victorian lady was gently kissing her partner's cheek from behind and delicately touching her neck. Her partner was holding a copy of the magazine. The article disfigured by a photograph of Thatcher caught their eye and two paragraphs clinched the arguments.

"What are the two most memorable phrases uttered by Margaret Thatcher about men and women? 'Every man a capitalist' trips off her tongue when asked about her aims for the country. As for women, the image of the prudent 'housewife' stands out : unlike a socialist government, she manages the budget without spending more than the family earns…..The last few years have seen not merely the loss of many of the gains made in the 1970s for all women, but also for low income women in particular a huge rise in unemployment, and an increase in exploitation at work and financial pressures at home. As Queen Victoria might have said 'we are not amused.'"

"It was that damned woman who drivelled on about 'family values, don't you forget that, Gemma.' That meant a man, a woman and two point four children and back to the closet for women like us," Margaret exploded in indignation. Helen exchanged amused glances with Nikki to see their friend steal Nikki's favourite line.

"Don't think I overlooked that," smouldered Gemma with all of her original fire burning deep inside her." You may know this already but just in case you don't, section 28 of a Local Government Bill stated that a local authority 'shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality' or 'promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship.'"

"Pretended?" almost shouted Nikki."Just what in hell do those bigots think we are. We don't want acceptance but the right to live the way we bloody well like and don't need to seek permission to do so from anyone."

"The worst of it is what in God's name is 'promote?' Putting on my lawyer's hat, it can mean anything that a bigot says it is. Asking that gay alternative lifestyles should be tolerated, hardly a revolutionary demand could be construed as 'promote.' Isn't that right, judge?" Claire intervened, finally turning to John for advice.

"Precisely so, Claire. It's not so much that any local authority was prosecuted, though that's bad enough but what's ten times worse is self-censorship, the fear that what you do can bring down the forces of reaction on you," John replied in level headed tones.

"That sounds about right," Gemma replied, pleasantly surprised by John's political understanding.

"In 1983 the Daily Mail newspaper, reported that a copy of a book entitled Jenny lives with Eric and Martin – portraying a little girl who lives with her father and his gay partner – was provided in a school library run by the Inner London Education Authority," pursued Gemma, pulling out another sheet of paper from her file.

"So what's the problem if the book was tastefully and sensitively written?" Sally Anne asked incredulously.

"I'm sure that Bodybag was really lapping up all that load of reactionary crap in that decade," Helen finally commented with acid sarcasm, having deeply absorbed another chunk of her adopted history." I suppose she might as well have gone the whole hog and bought a Margaret Thatcher mug instead of the Charles and Diana mug I used to notice when I used to hold meetings in the PO room."

"Bodybag?" queried Gemma, bemused by the obscure reference.

"Sylvia Hollamby, to call her by her rightful name. She's the daughter of my very conformist sister Constance Winters who married an undertaker called Bobby Hollamby, hence the nickname behind her back," explained Margaret.

"She's at the heart of the matter," Helen said, suddenly on a roll of inspiration." She is notoriously homophobic, racist, bigoted, always thinking the words of people, a right backstabber where I was concerned and a…."

"A petty Hitler type to prisoners who didn't stand up to her, don't forget that," chirped in Nikki, while Helen smilingly acknowledged the omission in her denunciation.

"You think of it this way. She's aged fifty-three, born in 1948. When she was eighteen years old, she was smack in the middle of the swinging sixties. When others were all letting it all hang out, going on demonstrations and all that kind of stuff, was she right there among the rebels, I mean with Gemma for instance? Was she like hell. She was part of the silent majority, born and bred to stick with all those dreadful proverbs that her mother inflicted on her to pass down the generations. She crept out of the woodwork when that particular era gave her the chance."

" She sounds the kind of woman who read the sycophantic crap that the right wing press wrote about Thatcher and believed every last single word of it," put in Gemma.

"The worst of it all was that that I shared one thing in common with that damned woman, my Christian name," Margaret finally concluded to an explosion of laughter from everybody. It was that exquisite perception and her dry wit that made them all fall about laughing. Besides that they needed that release after reliving the dark reality of that era.

**********

"So how did you both survive the 1980s?" Sally Anne asked quietly. Good question, thouight everyone else. All those who were adult racked their brains to find the right words to personalise their experiences. It was Margaret who got there first.

"I think we all got relegated to the sidelines. We were permanently angry and disgusted and felt that the country didn't belong to us anymore. We also got older. Isn't that right, Gemma?"

"Got it in one, Margaret," agreed her friend.

"I agree also. That was a very turbulent period in my life, the breakup of my marriage, bringing up my daughter, my success as a radical barrister and the ressurrection of reactionary ideas I foolishly thought had been buried by the forces of reason and progress," John quietly intervened, precisely outlining his peculiarly contrasting life experiences.

The meeting lapsed into a gloomy silence as the yars of spiritual opression weighed on them all, having experienced it as adults and as children. At that moment, the bright sun, that had been riding high in the sky, was sinking down and the shadows in the living room were lengthening and darkening.


	59. Chapter 59

**Scene Fifty-Nine**

"Excuse me a minute, but what about Rita and Elaine? I think we've left them out by mistake,"asked Jenny in her quiet fashion out of the long, reflective pause that had enveloped them. It was at that moment that the two women somehow materialized from out of nowhere into their place in the gathering. In reality, John had thoughtfully phoned Coope on his mobile while journeying to Margaret's house and had filled them in briefly on how the conference had progressed. They had crept in during the middle of the intense debate and had stayed on the fringes, knowing that they would hear the details at their leisure. Kind-heartedly, everyone now wanted them to be brought into the picture, having contributed so much behind the scenes to the day's success.

" So what of your experiences in the eighties?" she added.

"It's really kind of you but I'm afraid you can count us out of this one, Jenny," Coope replied in a self-deprecating fashion. "We got to know each other when we joined the army. Afterwards, I got married and had a son, supposedly for life and I never knew till I met her later how Elaine had always felt about me."

"That used to be me all over, keep everything a secret. I was hardly 'out and proud'," added Elaine bashfully." Rita had to give me a push at the right time years after we first started living together."

While a murmur of sympathy made the two women feel better about having missed the battle, Trisha was leafing through the magazine with great interest. Her gaze sharpened when she happened on a short story called 'Summer' with a side illustration of a view out of a bedroom window. Out of the corner of her eye, Nikki saw a soft, gentle smile spread across her friend's face and was immediately curious.

What grabbed her attention was the simplicity of the lesbian love story. It was written as if charged with the very heat of an intensely hot summer where the protagonist slaved her guts out working in a restaurant. This was pitched against the red-hot passion of a relationship with another woman whose anger was variously directed at herself, at the society she lived in and her partner. Nikki had to acknowledge that she could see something of herself in this woman who, ironically, was called Helen. One woman's childhood had been spent 'building dens in the backyard' which was more Nikki's experience while the other woman's was of 'mad, alcoholic and angry adults.' This was more the background of some of the women she knew at Larkhall, Denny for instance. She felt the point of Helen's chin resting on her shoulder, who was thinking the exact same thoughts. A line that leapt out at Trisha that 'being a dyke didn't make getting along any easier.' She knew that the story, written fifteen years ago was of her nine-year relationship with Nikki, right up till she was imprisoned. All the women now gathered round were pleased how the story ended up happily. It was really an unremarkable story that quite naturally told a story they could easily relate to. Finally John came over, not wanting to be left out and its feelings of hope moved him equally. It was what they all could do with right now after the hard fought battles over the years, today especially.

"We were like that years ago Nik," Trisha said softly to her friend in a reminiscent mood," if you don't mind me saying."

"Go ahead, Trisha," Helen said mildly in reply." After all, you have a shared history."

"It's really strange rereading this story now but this story now feels like a mainstream love story. At that time, we really felt as if we were pushing at the boundaries in publishing the story and printing the advert on the back page," Gemma said with a feeling of reflective pride." Somehow, we must have made progress since then."

"This is a little off my normal beaten track and I hesitate to express any opinions……," John started to say and then stopped. Margaret knew instantly that, for once in his life, her friend was shy and needed a little encouragement.

"Go ahead, John. You've been around on this earth long enough and you've learnt from what you've seen." The look of gratitude on John's face was palpable, as he got ready to speak.

"My slightly nervous point of entry here is my lifelong belief that freedom is indivisible. I feel that we have a duty to discover ourselves and not take any second hand definition on who we should be. That takes a really strong will. In my case, the more someone say that I'm not supposed to do something, the more I'm itching to break this rule. Coope knows me well enough and she'll say so……."

"I do say so, judge. It's a wonder my hair hasn't turned grey with all the scrapes you've landed yourself in," came Coope's warm, affectionate rejoinder to which John grinned in an embarrassed fashion.

"OK, so I can be badly behaved but mostly in a good cause. I feel that what you all strived for loosened the chains that surround us all. What I wonder is how you managed to survive growing up in the eighties as, dare I say it, young people with reactionary forces stacked against you?"

"You know that's a very good question," Claire said reflectively. Seeing the judge professionally in action, she had known he would throw them a challenging question. Being a relative outsider to their concerns gave him a backhanded advantage." How indeed? I need help to answer this. What about you, Nikki?"

"I'm not best qualified to speak," the dark haired woman said in hesitant tones, conscious of the group's attention trained on her."It hit me hard when I was thrown out of boarding school for 'lesbian activities' and then disowned by my parents. I had to find my place in the world," Nikki continued, starting to feel her way forward." I remember the tail end of the 1980's when I had a place of my own in London and was known on the scene as 'out and proud.' I was permanently angry, rather like you used to be, Gemma……," Nikki started to say, glancing at her friend and receiving an embarrassed grin of agreement with her.

"My problem is that I used to end up having affairs with straight women who didn't know the meaning of the word honesty. Whenever they sensed the slightest desire from me for emotional commitment, every time they would clear off back to their boyfriend. I'd yell at them for being a 'two faced tart.' It didn't do any good, least of all for me. Even now, Trish you don't really know just how much you did to stabilize me."

"Don't I know it, babes and Helen's been the rightful beneficiary. It's meant that I learnt to be patient when Sally Anne was going through her own emotional troubles. Perhaps I'm best in doing the talking here," Trisha said at last." From what I've heard from you, Margaret, I was a bit like you in being conventionally good looking and growing up in a normal family."

"My family? Well, there was a mother, father and two daughters. Doesn't that beg the question of exactly what is a family?" Margaret asked impishly. _Jesus, doesn't that women ever let anything go?_ Claire asked herself admiringly.

"OK, so point taken. Anyway, my father worked in a bank, my mother a few hours a week in a solicitor's office and we lived in this large mock Georgian house on the outskirts of London. I had everything material I could have ever wanted. I was once very close to my younger sister who later got married to the archetypal accountant. I could have surrendered to the usual marriage market but I was restless, looking for something I couldn't define. Boys thought me distant, unapproachable no matter how much they tried while girls were always my friends. Later, well Margaret's story of her first love was mine as well……Finally, I found life too constricting in the suburbs so I used the pretext of working in the City to leave home and, well, I met Nikki."

"In our natural youthful cockiness, we might have thought we were pioneers in setting up Chix as something groundbreaking but we didn't. Trisha and I had always vaguely known about the Gateways Club but only as a rumour. We only found out when we got together, we'd each visited it once just before it closed down. Of course, we were a bit conscious of the self-assurance of the older crowd who set the atmosphere, that we were young kids in comparison. We needn't have worried, as we know very well by now," Nikki said gently, carried along by a nostalgic mood about the past she had shared with Trisha. Gemma met her gaze with understanding, having been there emotionally speaking. "That became the germ of the idea to recreate something like it for our own generation. Margaret has helped us to get the emotional feel of its significance, not just a famous lesbian club in its day but as a living, breathing creation."

"You know, it's only with talking to you, John, and coming to this conference that I've become aware of freedom in the widest context," Helen said thoughtfully." I always had a sense of justice as a modern day Florence Nightingale, trying to do some good in this world but I was also mapping out a career at the same time. Today is teaching me the bigger picture."

"You mean the picture looking down on us?" laughed Nikki as she glanced sideways at the picture of the three naked ladies looking down on them all from the subdued shadows of this most comfortable room." Let's face it, it has a lot to account for."

The conversation started to slow down as the sun finally sank down below the horizon. They had all lived at the greatest level of emotional and intellectual intensity that a reaction was setting in. No one had thought to do more than switch on the sidelights earlier on. Margaret was reclining on the chaise-longue, her eyes half closed, looking at peace with herself. A general sense of exhaustion was settling over the group. Claire and Jenny lay on the settee, inclined towards each other and looking very peaceful. Gemma, no stranger to intense debate, was starting to feel left behind while Rita and Elaine were content to let the conversation take its course.

"We've talked a lot about the past but just where do we see the future going?" John suddenly said out of nowhere. "This government came in on a pop song chant of 'Things can only get better' yet they are outdoing its predecessors in sucking power inwards to the centre."

"John, I know everything you're saying but we're really tired. We've done so much today," moaned Nikki in a tired voice. Helen knew that her partner had got to the point where she might have got ratty with John. Either her sense of control was remarkable or else her respect for the judge overrode her natural instincts. Just how did this guy get all his intellectual energy from, Helen wondered.

"You're tired, Nikki? You've got reason to be," John said in almost affectionately fatherly tones." Just the same, you have to remember that there are too many sleepwalking people who can do their job all right but try to reach out to touch them with something meaningful and they are running scared."

"From themselves?" questioned Trisha, in a way that Nikki gave her full marks for. In the old days, Nikki was the one for a cause and Trisha hung back, half willing.

"There's one thing we all got in common and that's a passion for the truth, for honesty. Those we've been fighting against haven't any conscience and they've got a lust for social control and self- advancement and that's frightening. At least the aristocrats of a previous age had some kind of principles."

"That's what I found in Julia's family," interjected Margaret, speaking half in a dream to begin with until she saw John's appreciative smile.

"So do we form some kind of revolutionary guard?" Gemma asked, pursuing the matter in her businesslike fashion. The conversation felt as if they were in some kind of mad dream that ordinarily, they would be wanting to wake up from. This time, the dream world was seductive and her activist past of meetings, resolutions and demonstrations called on her to reclaim her past as much as it pointed to the future.

"I don't know the answer. Sometimes I feel that watching and waiting and events will call forth the moment and other times that I'm wishing my life away," John said sleepily, letting the moment go. John made it obvious that he didn't know the answer, as the moment to be seized didn't feel right. This was the moment for the events of this day to finally wind down.


	60. Chapter 60

**Scene Sixty**

The Hollambys and Fenner had felt the definite moment when the rug was pulled out from under their feet at the conference. Wade and Stewart had wormed their way around the feeble and ineffective facilitator and infected everyone else with their 'pro prisoner attitudes' as if they were being paid to work in a girls boarding school. All this tommyrot about prisoners needing respecting had always made Bodybag sick and, as for treating prisoners with respect, the way this conference was run made her blood boil. It brought back all her memories of the infamous Red Ken and Islington Borough Council or at least the way her copy of the Daily Mail told her. It seemed like every member of the 'Looney Left' had come out of the woodwork with too few right-thinking people to speak their minds.

"Who's that judge? Wade and Stewart seem very thick with him. Don't get it. I mean what would he be doing with them and why are they palling up to that old man?" Fenner muttered contemptuously under his breath.

Bodybag didn't answer. She wanted to avoid at all costs Jim knowing about her completely failed attempts to get what was due to her out of her aunt's will.

When the conference hall was rapidly draining away at the end, taking the more rebellious members of the audience out into the streets, the Hollambys and Fenner sat rigidly to their seats to think what to do next. Bobby was tired out from all the talking and wanted to get home and watch the TV and get back to his business but her knew that his wife and Jim would be full of the whole thing.

"What'll we say to the Number One?" Fenner said furtively as they slipped through the doorway." I mean the whole thing went pear shaped. We need to cover our own backs."

"We're not to blame for the sloppy arrangements in letting all these Lefties slip through the net, especially Stewart and Wade. I mean we can't do everything. We did our best to speak out and say our piece. We'll just be a bit vague and skip the details," Bodybag said with a crafty look on her face.

"We'll I'm going. It's me for a pint anyway, drown my sorrows."

********

The very same instinct pervaded the corridors of Whitehall as they felt the full impact of the conference being taken out of their hands. Neil Haughton, Sir Ian, Lawrence James and Sir Percy Thrower gathered in Sir Ian's office, gloomily considering the aftermath. A chill atmosphere hung over the room

"Well, I suppose we should be grateful that the newspapers and TV were amenable to our wishes and pulled all coverage of the conference. The ordinary citizen had something harmless to watch on the six o clock news and read in the tabloids the next day," Sir Ian started to say uncomfortably.

"True, Ian but what happened to all your well thought out plans to stamp on the public our plan to embed law and order values on the general public?" demanded Neil Haughton waspishly.

Lawrence James sat, pretending extraordinary interest in the picture hanging on the wall. In truth, he had approved a draft agenda that his opposite number in the Home Office had drafted which was taken to the top by both departments. He was only hoping that his part in the proceedings would be overlooked.

"My plan?" queried Sir Ian." I thought we all accepted collective responsibility for it. As originally presented to me, the plan was robust, the risks of failure minimized."

"So what on earth went wrong Ian?" Sir Percy Thrower blustered in a display of ostensible anger which was really powered by craven fear for his future prospects." I mean, I was only there to chair the meeting. I can't be blamed if some elderly crank and her hot-headed accomplice derailed the proceedings at an early stage. I was given to understand that the audience was reliable. As a safeguard, I went round to all the seminar groups to give it the appropriate steer. What more could I have done?"

"You should have delivered, Percy," Neil Haughton snapped back with staring blue eyes." You know that the government's watchword is that there is no excuse for failure. Years ago, we had all those party conferences that ended up in turmoil, everyone publicly disagreeing and it lost us elections. We cleared out all that anarchy years ago, expelled all the troublemaking extremists and laid it on the line that meetings at all levels had to be focussed, disciplined and delivering the right agendas. Anyone who didn't like that was told to shut up or get out. It got the party elected to become a natural party of government and we went on to run the country the same way. We got our hands on the machinery of government and we'll never loosen our grip. It's only recently that we've struck trouble."

"So if the plan was sound, what went wrong?" Sir Ian asked and half regretted his unusual rash openness. He feared he might suffer for it. Luckily for him, all of them looked away from the sound structure and looked for the wild, uncontrollable elements and found their answer. It was the nature of control freaks to personalize the circumstances and what better scapegoat than John?

"I was there and I can safely say that Deed acted outrageously. It's one thing for him to sound off in private debates with us or to hand down some vexatious verdict that flies the face of the greater good. It's quite another thing for him to rant and rave in public. He's gone too far and something must be done to stop him," Lawrence James said at last.

"We need a team to deal with this one and that is you from the Lord Chancellor's Department and me from the Home Office," Neil Haughton said abruptly in tones that forbade dissent." I've squared this with Sir Alan Peasemarsh. We'll go to him in his chambers."

Sir Ian opened his mouth to protest but the words died in his throat. His upbringing crowded in on him to tell him that, come the time when he might be tempted to sound off angrily about all and sundry, the greater wisdom was to remain silent and not to risk losing his footing on the eternal career snakes and ladders game of life. Being a career civil servant meant that his destiny was written for him, or so he believed.

********

When John came to work after the Conference, he felt that he had travelled the world and both seen a lot of strange sights and experiences. Images of the day kept flicking through his mind like a sequence of playing cards laid down before his eyes. He felt a strong kinship with his fellow conspirators and, in particular, had seen a completely separate side of Coope whose shared aura with her partner Elaine had made its presence out of the corner of his eye. He felt that he was supremely lucky with her quiet intelligence watching over him and her exasperation with in his more foolish moments had a maternal undertone to it. It did mean that he was happy working away, studying the next set of trial papers while Coope worked quietly away in her corner of the chambers.

When he thought about it, he felt sustained and energized by his very sympathetic and remarkable female friends, how they had combined their talents to outmanoeuvre their enemies every step of the way, in the run up to the conference, throughout all the meetings, climaxing with his oratorical performance at the end. This was precisely the reason why the establishment would be so revengeful towards him. His well-developed danger instincts told him that the purposeful tread along the corridor, growing louder and more distinct, was the herald of external troubles. Finally, the door was pushed open and Neil Haughton stood before him, glowering with anger while Sir Ian looked cold and hostile, like two threatening statues.

"Oh there you are, Ian and Neil. I am privileged with the presence of the two of you. Want a cup of tea?" John offered in his mildest tone of voice.

"It's time we had a long talk, Deed," hissed Neil Haughton, aggression cutting aside the normal formal civilities that Sir Ian would have offered.

"Indeed," John asked in irritatingly cool and unruffled tones." Have we really got that much to say to each other? If we have, it's a new one on me."

"There's plenty I want to say to you, Deed. You have gone too far in your rabble-rousing. I know you deliberately set out to wreck the recent conference on 'Imprisonment and Modernization." Instead of practical measures to get a grip of society, what have you left us with? If only we were all nice to each other, then there wouldn't be any crime. Fat lot of good that is to hard-working people threatened by crime every day."

"I remember watching your stomach jerking party political broadcast when you lectured the general public about the evils of prostitution. A very reliable source informed me that you'd picked up a street prostitute. We had an interesting heart to heart talk about this. What the general public can't stand is hypocrisy and you, Haughton are its greatest exponent. There is a crisis of political legitimacy right now and if you only cleaned up your own backyard, perhaps you might be getting somewhere," retorted John, his icily precise pronunciation giving way to incandescent anger.

"You've been listening to the lies of some celebrity obsessed tart. You should know better," sneered Haughton, inwardly shaking in his shoes but covering up his feelings as any good politician should.

"So you say," John retorted, his voice dripping with extreme scepticism. He had spotted his shifty manner and his eyes looking every which way but at him. He spotted Sir Ian's quick look of disapproval, a split second before adjusting his face to try his brand of oily diplomacy.

"Surely you see, John that you are quite entitled to operate in the field you specialise in which is the operation of the judiciary. I wouldn't deny that sometimes your judgments are perverse and sometimes politically embarrassing but no one has seriously contested your right to act in the way that you do. One thing you mustn't do is to directly enter the political arena. Leave politics to the politicians, there's a good chap."

On another occasion, Sir Ian's smooth, patronising tones might have angered John and provoked him into saying something rash but now the picture on the wall in Margaret's house came to mind and a mischievous smile started to spread across his features. It unsettled his two opponents as they were expecting a verbal punchup.

"You know, it's amazing what I get to hear of, Ian with my wide circle of friends," John said in equally smooth tones." For instance, I know that you have a remarkably free spirited aunt, Olivia Rochester. She was apparently a very keen pilot and served in the ATS during the war, ferrying aircraft. Her pride and joy was flying the Supermarine Spitfire. She lived with her female lover, an artist who painted a picture of her and two friends, a picture that I've seen…….."

"That's enough of that, John," spluttered Sir Ian, turning red with intense embarrassment and fear. How the devil did his deadly enemy know this darkest family secret that even his estranged wife, Francesca Rochester never knew of at all? He could remember the occasional gale of unrestrained laughter from that outlandish woman on her rare visit to the family home. He could vividly remember years ago just before going up to Oxford visiting a newsagent in Hackney and two of her friends appeared out of the blue and laughingly interrogating him. He was young and vulnerable then, not used to the ways of the world.

"She was a free spirit, full of daring and adventure, someone who wasn't afraid of life and lived it to the fullest. I've got to know her best friend who's still around and what I want to know is why you've grown up so dry and repressed? She could have done you so much good if only you let her? Your friend Haughton is an ignorant lout and will never know any better but you had your chances and let them slip through your fingers."

For a distinct pause in time, Sir Ian's face remained an intense shade of red. He wanted to run away from the situation, from himself, something he had never wanted to do before. His emotions twisted inside him like a coiled spring until they suddenly flew off in an unpredictable tangent.

"You'll regret this, Deed. You haven't heard the last of us," Sir Ian suddenly raged at

John..

"You've gone too far, Deed. We'll look for some way to remove you by hook or by crook, interrupted Neil Haughton in his nastiest tones as John's sideswipe stung him. What wound them up was the mixture of John's personal and political attack on them , which cut deeper than ever before. Inwardly, they wanted to get away without losing face as their minds ran around frantic wondering how Deed got to know so much. If knowledge was power, then they felt agonisingly powerless, without the will to impose their view. This threat to their psyche would haunt them and get between them and their sleep.

After his two hated enemies slunk out of his chambers, John picked up copies of the Times and the Guardian that Coope had thoughtfully obtained and intercepted a meaning look from her. As he looked through the paper from cover to cover, he took in the expanse of cultured, well written articles bringing in the window of observation to the outside world- with one exception. His mouth set in a tight line as he sought to digest the implications of the gaping hole in public events. There was absolutely not a word about the conference on 'Imprisonment and Modernisation.' From the point of view of the averagely educated person believing in the ultimate reality of the middle to highbrow newspaper, this conference did not exist. Worse still, there was no purchase on events that suggested that coverage of the event had been censored, no blank white rectangle. Instead, news items had been reported on so that the event was sunk without trace, leaving not a trace of driftwood on the surface. John was hit with two violently contradictory emotions. The detached observer from an Olympian perspective wasn't greatly surprised that the apparachtiks had covered up their colossal failure. Another side of him was ragingly angry that the remaining fragment of his faith on honesty and common decency had been violated.

"What else did you expect judge?" Coope called out with incredible gentleness. She could see that the judge was momentarily crushed by this latest subterfuge. "At least they'll be afraid of what we know, what we can organise. We can say to their schemes 'not in our name.'"

"You're right Coope. We have won part of the battle. What we did, matters," John said, a sudden warm smile spreading across his face even if he was making the best of his disappointment.

"You wait half an hour before you phone Nikki or Helen. I'll make us a nice cup of tea in the meantime, judge."

John sat back in pure wonder and shook his head gently. How the devil had this very astute woman guessed exactly what was in his mind?


	61. Chapter 61

Scene Sixty-One

Margaret and her friends woke up early, jubilant with the feeling that the world had shifted on its axis. In their eyes, the tumultuous events of the conference were the centre of consciousness, of the universe while all the petty events, as reported in the news, of some politician's vapid outpourings, some cheap celebrity gossip could and should be swept aside, not to mention the neurotic goings on of the Dow Jones index, whatever the hell it was. They all made the same decision to nip out to the newsagent and rifle through the newspapers on the racks and had the same roller coaster of emotional switchbacks, as Helen and Nikki were to undergo.

"Surely the bloody Guardian should have picked up on this? They were bloody quick to print Crystal Gordon's letter years ago?" Helen fumed as she carried on searching through the paper.

"Tell me my eyes aren't working, babes or it's too early in the morning," Nikki said in a flat, bitter tone as the Times was saying pretty nearly what the Telegraph was saying. At one time, she took it for granted that media professionalism media caused all the journalists to focus on world events in a similar way and differences were down to real political differences. Now she was starting to question this lazy assumption..

"We have to act, Nikki. Let's take a couple of papers each and look at them at our leisure. Perhaps we could meet up at lunchtime," Helen said brightly.

"OK, babes," Nikki said in businesslike tones, her partner's manner not deceiving her for one moment.

It was later when she had arrived at work when she was pretending to herself to be engrossed in some research when her mobile bleeped. To her slight surprise, it was John, not Helen.

"I suppose you've read the headlines and not read the news that by rights we've all deserved," John said immediately with no preambles. There was a steely hard edge to his voice.

"Got it in one, John." Nikki said, attempting to be cool and controlled before her real feelings spilled out in a stream of emotion." I thought that we might get a small mention at the bottom of page 12, that's not much to ask for. I mean what we did the other day mattered. It was really important. We can't all be brushed under the carpet as if we don't exist, John ……."

The tone of distress in Nikki's voice wrung at John's heartstrings and brought out his fatherly feelings. His natural instincts to be stoic and global kicked in.

"You mean you thought we lived in a democracy, Nikki. So did I once………"

"That's just it. After all the shit I went through at Larkhall, I really did think that I was immune to disillusionment, especially with the favourable publicity when I got out on appeal."

"We need to talk about this all together as I have some good news to tell you all. If you're struggling to get your head round this, so will the others. Can Trisha fix us up with her VIP room on a quiet night?" John urged in his firmest, most masterful tones. It did the trick in pulling Nikki together.

"Sure John. Leave it to me," Nikki answered. Only a few minutes after she clicked her phone off did she register faint surprise at John's unsurprised choice of venue.

**********

This time around, Nikki was intrigued to see how John walked at the side of the swaying, gyrating women without a hint of self-consciousness. Her innate curiosity was piqued by John's cryptic last words to her and it cheered her up no end. All the women were dressed in their smartest outfits and she supposed that John had an art appreciation for attractive women seeing that he had slept with his share of them from all accounts even if his present company was unavailable. She shrugged her shoulders and followed the crowd upstairs. As they took their seats, they all felt that a river of rich experiences had flowed

under their bridges since they had last met here and the conference had welded them closer together in the heat of battle. It was Helen that started off the proceedings as anyone of them could have done so.

"Before we start, I was intrigued by your choice of venue, John. It was as if you picked the one place that the establishment would be least likely to know that you frequented," she said with her broad, mischievous smile, her eyes glinting.

"Once is a one off. Twice means frequenting," John said with a subdued smile that rang loud warning bells to the women's sensitivities

"Anyone would think you were in danger of being bugged," laughed Claire light-heartedly at the absurdity of the idea.

"Your words, Claire not mine," John said shortly. All the women were brought up short by the darkness of outlook expressed in his words. Suddenly, the swaying warmth of the rhythms of the dance music penetrating from below the floor was cut off, as if by a switch. They looked at each other as John was beckoning them to look into a sinister world that they'd not experienced before, Being by nature not slow to accept nature's mental challenges, they could not draw back but had to face the music.

"Perhaps you'd better explain, judge," Helen said at last as she felt her way in learning a new form of language and discourse." You ought to remember that we're just happy go lucky lesbians, unused to the world of high politics."

"…..Though we're willing to learn," added Margaret just ahead of Nikki.

"I'll explain exactly what happened to me and then you'll understand," John answered and then he launched into his story. John's mixture of levity and seriousness articulated in that musing, reflective voice held them fascinated as they were treated to a backroom view of the political process.

"Do you think you went too far John? I mean your recklessness worries me for your sake," Nikki asked at last, concern edging her gentle voice and written over her face. Having talked to Rita, she could empathise for the way she worried over the judge.

"I don't know, Nikki," he replied in reflective tones. "When I told the pair of them of secrets which they thought deeply hidden, I acted impulsively. All my life I have tended to be badly behaved but I firmly believe that I made the right decision. You have to understand that they are control freaks and analyse what motivates them."

"Tell us more, judge. We're interested," Helen replied, her interest engaged.

"They are addicted to the acquisition of knowledge, the false feeling of security that those who work for them don't have any independent thoughts, the feeling that everything and everyone is controlled so they can feel certain in their world. Deep down, they are very neurotic personalities. The other side of the coin is that they wallow in the world of privilege, of exclusiveness and their greatest fear is that their control of this can be wrenched out of their hands. What appals me is that they don't have any values to speak of, no learning, no inner core of being, no individuality, not like the traditional aristocracy that I remember crossing swords with in my younger days."

"You're certainly right there, John. You describe Julia's family so perfectly," Margaret said, a wreath of smiles on her face, being the widow of just such a shining example. Her memories unfolded before her eyes in an endless wave that rippled back through the decades. At last, her friends could see and feel exactly what was going through the mind of their friend. Smilingly, he acknowledged the unquestionable wealth of experience behind the words of his friend.

"Just what will hold them back from taking their vengeance on you? They're certainly angry enough," Trisha questioned. The conference had left her with a permanently increased awareness outside her immediate lifestyle.

"In order to remove me, there would have to be a bill of impeachment passed in both houses of Parliament. So far, I have withstood any attempts in that direction. Oh yes, they have tried this before. What's important is to figure out what they know and what they don't know. I was identified as their main threat to their plans for the conference, that I would do my best to scupper their plans. Nikki has come to their attention for the overthrow of the original criminal judgement that would have put her away for life. Helen may have come to their attention for her splendid denunciation of the reactionaries in the prison system. They know that you both slipped through the net. It's the rest of us they didn't know about. They know they were outmanoeuvred despite their best efforts and especially in the areas outside my expertise. That really frightens them, as they are so conspiracy minded. What they don't know is how we managed to do it. This comes back to their fear of loss of control."

"But we haven't any great plans in our lives to create wax images of that Percy Thrower guy and stick pins into him?" Jenny questioned, becoming seriously worried by this dark underworld. She had quite enough to deal with in life as a hard-working probation officer.

"You know, I know but they don't know it," observed Nikki ironically.

"Besides, what are they going to listen to? Just how much do they know what the ordinary woman feels, or man come to think of it?" put in Sally-Anne with a slightly embarrassed look at John who gestured kindly at her. She hadn't thought to put the order of words in any other sequence as it seemed perfectly natural and logical to her.

"Are you saying, judge we have to get involved in politics? I pick up the morning papers and I really can't take all the self important macho crap spewed at us by the politicians. I really can't deal with going out to party meetings in the evenings when I've got so much else to do in my life. I mean, I'm not an obsessive and besides, I've got a club to run here with Sally," questioned Trisha as the dreariness of such a life repelled her.

"That's all the public theatre written for the gullible public and the truth is somewhere else," put in Gemma."I stuck with politics in the eighties and the Greenham Common Women's Camp was only one of a handful of occasions when ordinary people got a look-in. That was in the era of the Cold War. Because the maniacs in the Pentagon felt that in order to make us feel safe, we stored Cruise missiles to threaten to obliterate Russia, ordinary women camped out in a Peace Camp to protest against the madness."

"I recall that in 1990, the Court of Appeal allowed the appeal by the Greenham Common women and held that the Minister had exceeded his powers in framing the byelaws so as to prevent access to common land. The missiles were flown back to America along with the military personnel around 1991,"observed John with amusement and pleasure." I was but a struggling barrister at the time trying to make my way in the world."

"So where does that leave society going? I've been more into politics than the rest of you and I don't see the answer. I'm honest enough to admit that I'm no guru."

"I don't know. Everything seems very calm on the surface, too calm perhaps. You've just had a flavour of the way that the establishment operates. I suppose we need to stick around and await developments," John said with a faraway, distant look in his eyes as if he were looking across the ocean in search of a distant continent. It was almost as if he'd abstracted himself into a world of his own before he came back to earth and looked around in an embarrassed fashion." Anyway, the least I can do is to buy you ladies all drinks for putting up with my ramblings. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not often we get a chance to sit down and think where we're going," Helen said softly and gently before a mischievous look sparked in her eyes." I will accept the offer of a drink."

******

Later at night, Helen lay on her side looking at and through Nikki. Even the dim glow of the streetlights couldn't dim the reflective look in her eyes.

"What are you thinking of, darling? Let's face it, after tonight I could guess a million times and still get it wrong," Nikki asked, carefully and lovingly stroking a lock of hair behind her partner's ear.

"Not you sweetheart," came the answer Nikki needed, that soft Scottish intonation weaving its way round Nikki's senses." I'm thinking of the future and what comes after us. I feel a duty to it."

Nikki couldn't work out the meaning but knew that, sooner or later, her partner's meaning would become clear as it did always.


	62. Chapter 62

Scene Sixty-Two

History that is lived through can be a confusing affair where the historical tidewash of events pulls people in directions more random than people like to think. In the case of Margaret and her friends, the adrenaline intensity that had built up to the conference couldn't be sustained forever and its aftermath provided no springboard for their future. John's interesting observations were food for thought but no more, however much the seeds were left to germinate in their minds. Above all else, they felt tired out after their exertions and wanted to relax and take life easy. The soporific heat of an English summer overtook them all as time passed slowly. Life was enough of a battle in struggling through the sweaty heat of battering through London's traffic or the tightly packed humanity in the London underground.

******

It was this desire to return to a more natural form of existence that drove Claire and Jenny to head off to Regent's Park on a sunny Saturday afternoon, equipped with nothing but a wickerwork picnic basket. Claire was dressed in a sunny yellow knee length loose-fitting dress, her long brown hair falling attractively over her bare shoulders while Jenny's dark fresh faced looks were set off to perfection by a white dress which showed off her cleavage. While Claire wore elegant, slightly tinted wraparound shades, Jenny wore a straw hat to cut down on the suns rays that burned down on them. Both felt gratifyingly freed from the constraints of their official garb. As they slipped into Regent's Park, their hands reached out for each other and they felt the texture of each others fingers and palms interlocked with each other. As they turned away from the endless racket of the city streets, the parkland opened up to the right of them and far towards the distant horizons while in front of them the signpost indicated St. Mary's Gardens. Of course, logic told them that this was a park, not a universe but it didn't feel like that right now.

"This is heaven, darling," Claire murmured, freed from her normal polite mode of discourse that her years of training made all too easy for her to voice.

"Both of us need time for ourselves, love. Why be afraid to spoil ourselves? God knows, we give enough of ourselves," answered Jenny, leaving her head to speak into her lover's ear.

Claire felt dizzy and weak when her lover's voice seemed to cover her all over and reach into the parts of her that, years ago she wanted to be freed. She inclined her cheek against Jenny whose lips kissed her softly. Today was going to be a perfect day, of that they were sure. Walking through the park was like being in a dreamlike state where they could amble along, as they veered towards the wide expanses. Fairly soon, they came to a spot that was shaded by a clump of ancient trees and the craggy branches were bursting with leaves that threw cool shade on them both. Strangely enough, long ago childhood memories returned to them both to set out the carefully cut sandwiches, biscuits, cakes and a thermos flask of hot water, teabags and milk.

"Our parent's doing," laughed Jenny at the sight of all the food. They had prepared it unthinkingly and only now did they gain perspective on what they'd done.

"More likely, Margaret's. Her traditions are so much more palatable than my parents," grinned Claire as she spread a lightweight rug to sit on." I'm quite a born-again tea drinker these days."

They reclined on the grass, taking in the simple delights all around them. Even the food they tasted seemed fresher. Each of them looked at the simple elegance of the other and blessed the chance events that made their paths in life cross and become intertwined. They only packed up their picnic to carry on walking when they felt like it, not because they had to. As they emerged into the blindingly bright sunshine again, Claire slipped her hand round the curve of her lover's waist and gently caressed it as they carried on with their stroll. The heat of the morning combined with the heat of the desires within the two women, which they knew would sooner or later be consummated. Through Claire's dark glasses, the antlike beings represented by distant people in the park were unreal and they had their own lives to contend with.

******

"For God's sake, Nikki, change the channel," Helen called out as the BBC News channel came on the air on one hot summer evening. Both the door to the kitchen and the back door were wide open as were the windows, while the birds were chirping away outside. The world outside was intensely bright-coloured and alive and their back garden was shooting greenery like mad while the fruits of Nikki's horticultural creations were bursting with vivid colours. Only on the TV screen, some obsequious smart-suited TV interviewer was interviewing the Prime Minister in washed out colours. Both women took in the man's frequent glassy smile, his attempt at sincerity, the way that he deliberately pitched his voice with well-chosen modulations in his voice. There was something creepy about the man.

"You know, those who know me think I'm a pretty straight sort of guy," he confessed with disarming honesty for the benefit of the TV camera directed at him. The guy also seemed to be pretty astute as to how to make the best use of camera angles as any actor would.

"'You can't hide your lying eyes,' sang Helen, borrowing the words from an Eagles song.

"Jesus Christ, I bet you Yvonne Atkins would see through him straightaway," Nikki declared, filled with horrified fascination.

"So where were you on May 2nd 1997 when this Tony Blair guy came to power," Helen asked rhetorically, knowing very well what the answer was." Where were you when we were told that things couldn't get better?"

"Probably banged up down the block after mouthing off at Fenner, lying in strips and figuring out that things couldn't get much worse," Nikki replied sarcastically.

"Now will you turn that bloody TV channel, even the most mindless soap programme must be better than that creep, especially after all we've been through," came Helen's long drawn out wail of protest as this man started to seriously assault her sensibilities. While nature bloomed in beauty outside, why should they tolerate such ugliness?

Nikki grinned to herself as she deliberately and slowly clicked the remote control and thoroughly enjoyed the sight of the obnoxious creep fade away and shrink into nothingness. As soon as she'd got on the outside and assimilated her whereabouts, she instinctively distrusted the man with very fibre of her being from the word go.

"You can't turn off reality as easily as that Helen," said Gemma in a semi-joking fashion from the corner armchair, having popped round in her sociable fashion, her shared salad tea propped informally on her lap.

"I know, Gemma but I need a bit of a rest," moaned Helen. "Perhaps something will happen in a year or so to get me streamed up again. I just need a break. God, you make Nikki sound like a laid back hippie and I never thought that was possible."

The older woman laughed out loud while Nikki grinned tolerantly. Gemma understood how Helen felt. At one time, she would have harangued an apparently reluctant member of the sisterhood of copping out, of wanting to withdraw to an unrealistic Robinson Crusoe island of her own and had lost a perfectly good feminist activist, friend and sometimes lover. Now she knew better in riding her own rhythms of life and letting others do the same. Besides, she knew very well that this couple were as doggedly determined as any couple she'd ever seen. She sipped at her glass of Martini and lemon as she had the perfect right as much as anyone to take it easy.

*******

The morning after the conference, it took all Margaret's strength to open her eyes and to her surprise, the hands of the clock opposite her described a shape that her very sleepy mind had trouble in grasping. It took her a while for her to realise that it was ten-thirty and the world had that unusually blissful silence about it. She wondered what on earth had been going on and realised that her throat was unusually dry until she realised that it was the result of her night out at Chix, where her place in the world was vastly expanded. She knew that she'd lived through important years in the development of lesbian history yet John had gently invited her and her part of the world to be subsumed into a greater arena without giving up anything that she had held dear. On the contrary, the welcoming gesture was gently respectful and honoured her spirit.

She stretched her arms and felt as light as a feather in getting out of bed and dressing up appropriately for the day. The sun shone dazzlingly into her bedroom and brightened her spirits. As she looked at herself in the dressing table mirror looking and feeling her best, she somehow without thinking about it knew that her efforts would get their long accustomed greeting.

"Well done, darling. We're so proud of you," said that well remembered voice as Julia's clear and vibrant tones expressed all her undying love for her." I don't mean just me but all our old friends, both near and far."

Margaret spun round and she could swear that before her very eyes, Julia was there before her, reclining elegantly in her favourite white suit

"Julia," exclaimed the white haired woman, hardly believing her eyes and still more as she could distinguish other dim shapes behind her.

"We've all come together for a little celebration - just for you," said another voice from out of her distant past. Sure enough, it was Virginia who, together with Olivia, were standing just behind her lover. Virginia was always the more verbally forward of the two of them, Margaret dreamily thought as the wind rustled the undrawn curtains, letting patterns of light flicker before her eyes.

Adrienne and Jeanne came into view, sunburnt and wearing their brightly coloured robes while Natalie Barnay made her appearance, looking regal as always. Margaret couldn't believe it as she beheld the last two women. She could swear blind that she could distinguish Violet Trefusis as she'd known her but younger, fresher looking, dressed in an elaborate pink creation that set off her brilliant blue eyes to perfection and wearing her favourite wide brimmed straw hat.

"Darling, you were magnificent, a credit to us all. We saw everything," she said in her singular musically precise voice, placing expressive stress on syllables as an artist with words should do. Margaret couldn't frame an answer as she became certain of the identity of the woman that Vita was leaning into and holding hands with. She was stylishly dressed, wearing riding boots, old-fashioned breeches and a white silk blouse with a row of pearls. Her face was handsome and authoritative and she looked directly at Margaret who was open-mouthed. All her dreams, her ideals she'd ever had were at last coming true, something that she'd mused about for all those months since Julia had died and before her new friends had come into her life.

"It's a shame we never met before but I'm glad we've now remedied the defect," this woman said in a low-pitched even tone of voice, one which however commanded her attention. Her brown eyes looked directly into Margaret's. " I've heard so much about you that I simply had to come along and meet you."

"You've heard of me? I can't believe it. You must be Vita Sackville-West," Margaret found herself exclaiming. She was everything she imagined her to be and no wonder that Violet adored her." You really are a conqueror."

"My reputation precedes me," Vita said with an enigmatic pleasurable smile.

"Margaret darling, I really thought I'd explain just how we've come after all these years to gatecrash your hospitality," Julia exclaimed with her typical flamboyant gestures but with that kindness that had ever marked her nature. Margaret could swear she could smell her cigarette smoke but that was perhaps an illusion. "I heard how worried you were at going to that conference organised by those beastly imbeciles so I paid you a quick visit to calm you down."

"So that was you, after all," Margaret said in tones of wonder. She did wonder if she'd been imagining it.

"Who else but?" drawled Julia in her most expressive way. "Your friends called round the next morning so I knew you'd be in good hands. We trailed along afterwards to the event though neither you nor your friends knew it. As soon as we knew how splendidly it went, we thought we'd come and have a proper reunion, the way it should be."

"And I am with Lushka- that's my pet name for her. I was fated to with be if only I'd let her. I know now that by desire for security that I thought I saw in my husband was illusory," said Vita helpfully.

"Midya knows how much your heart understands the story of our union - that's my pet name for her," added Violet, , smiling in her most enchanting fashion. Margaret looked on at them in open wonder. They were made to be together as now they were at last.

"So here we are all on a lovely beautiful morning with the portrait of us looking down on us," added Olivia." I've told all the others about it."

A silvery tinkling sound of laughter echoed and re-echoed round Margaret's bedroom and the white-haired lady beamed at all her friends who so very kindly happened to drop by.


	63. Chapter 63

Scene Sixty-Three

A sense of physical joy ran through Trisha's very being on this sunny Sunday afternoon as sunlight permeated through the delicate long white bedroom curtains. There she was, the fresh white undersheet beneath her, the duvet cast aside, feeling in the state of seventh heaven. Over her head, the pure white ceiling was angled crazily while the lampshade pointed down at her. This wasn't really the reason why she felt so good though the fact that she was flat on her back, her skin naked, her pelvis arching and her skin naked pointed in the right direction. What was giving her growing pleasure was the feel of her girlfriend, Sally Anne, between her legs, her tongue licking the inside of her thighs as she stroked the blond haired woman's diamond hard nipples. Both women felt the delicious sense of intimacy between then even while Trisha's senses and her voice wordlessly cried out to be entered. This woman of hers was such a tease, she moaned. Finally, Trisha got what she most desired as Sally's tongue lovingly caressed her clitoris and she uttered low moaning cries of desire. Everything felt right in her world, that blessed feeling of certainty and dependability as her girlfriend expertly coaxed her towards a shuddering climax, whose aftershocks rippled onwards in a way that showed that the ultimate pleasure needn't be a momentary high only to quickly fade away. She sighed with that sensation of total satisfaction in their conjoined world.

As Trisha's breathing returned to normal, she smiled at the way that Sally-Anne was quite content to remain as she was, except that her fingers were gently stroking her. In gratitude, she ran her fingers through that long sleek hair, now nicely tousled. Trisha felt best about the minor physical nuances that lay between them that showed that this wasn't just bed talk but that they were so much for each other. Finally, Sally came into view, tracing a line of gentle kisses along her stomach, before the tip of her tongue gently grazed each nipple and sent tingling sensations through her. Finally, after working her way through the shadow of her collarbones and her neck, she slipped her tongue deeply into Trisha's mouth with a murmuring sigh of pleasure.

"You really love sticking your tongue down my throat," murmured Trisha when they had finally disentangled themselves and Sally Anne was able to look into her lover's eyes, so close below her.

"I'm where I should be," sighed Sally, feeling Trisha's eager fingers tracing lines all the way down Sally's back and feeling her buttocks. In turn, she was making the best use of her limited space and stroking her lover's hair while pressing herself against her lover.

"This feels like getting back to normality. Much against my will, I've been dragged by Nikki into getting into a political strop and badmouthing the reactionaries but I don't want us to give up our bedtime together, our privacy, moments like this." Trisha said softly as she embraced her lover.

"Confess it, you've enjoyed yourself," teased Sally as she planted a gentle kiss of her lover's forehead and her own desires welled up inside her. "I'm your lover. I can tell."

"All right, I did enjoy it but I can't do it all the time," protested Trisha as their bodies moved around in bed so they lay on their sides. Sally exhaled and inhaled as Trisha ran her hand along the curves of Sally's flank. As opposed to Trisha's lean trim lines, Sally was satisfactorily more curvaceous.

"No one's asking you to," Sally said in sensuous tones as she drew Trisha on top of her who started slowly kissing her neck, savouring every moment.

"I'm glad you told me that," Trisha said in husky tones as her lips reached down to Sally's full breasts. One moment of reassurance gave way to another physical form as the dark haired woman craved as she pressed Trisha's head to her, her lips and tongue starting to gratify her own senses.

********

The clattering sounds of electric hedge cutters filled the air in suburbia, none less faithfully in Rita and Elaine's back garden as there were jobs to be done round the garden. An orange cable snaked its way out of the open back window to the back hedge where Rita, in her precise way, carved the perfect straight smooth lines and the flat top with the slight curve. As Elaine prodded with her hoe to break up the slightly hard texture of the earth to remove the tenacious spread of weeds, she admired the image of strength that her Rita presented and wiped her brow. The sun shone down brightly on them and their back garden presented their prosaic suburban holy of holies, from which they were not ashamed to gain simple pleasures. Just as Rita clicked off the switch in the side of her heavy implement, Elaine caught her eye.

"I'll get us some strawberries and cream and tea, right?" she exclaimed briefly while Rita nodded as she studied the last area she intended to trim. As she finished the backbreaking work of brushing the clippings into piled and scooping them into the wheelie-bin, she saw with relief Elaine emerging from the back and bringing a laden tea tray to their newly acquired garden table and chairs. Before their emotional rebirth, they had cloistered in the living room, dragged down by the weight of the perception of their neighbours. Nowadays, being 'out and proud' meant having meals in the back garden and being able to chat about anything they liked as if the rest of the world didn't exist.

"They look gorgeous, dear," Rita exclaimed at her partner's choice of fruit from the local grocers as she sank gratefully into the padded folding chair." Nothing like this on a lovely summer's day."

"Well, we can treat ourselves after a hard afternoon's work," Elaine smiled as she poured the tea. Soon, the two women ate and drank their fill. A faint breeze blew in from the back of them and they could feel the sun warming their skins. Rita was the first to roll her sleeves up, loosen a few buttons on her blouse and reach for her dark glasses. Right now, the combination of the delicious meal and lying back lazily in the sunshine was a pleasure they both felt they'd earned. After looking up at the brilliant blue sky and feeling a sense of peace, each women turned towards the other and a dreamy sense of affection matched the good feeling of existing on such a perfect day.

"Do you want us to go inside and lie down, darling?" Rita said in her softest, most inviting tone of voice, a slight smile on her lips.

"We'll have a shower first and soak the ache and pains out of our joints. Besides, we'll feel fresher that way," Elaine answered in her brisk tone of voice, softened by hr own smile. Rita appealed immediately to the flowered romance in Elaine but her practical nature put a welcome slant to the idea. She'd changed imperceptibly from the observer of racy conversations amongst her friends at Chix of how modern couples behaved. Such anecdotes had flowed like wine amongst them until she came to pick up on the magic words 'why not.' She'd come to realise that the intimacies of lesbian tenderness weren't the exclusive preserve of the young and ultra-glamorous.

"What a good idea sweetheart," Rita murmured approvingly. Both women made their way to the shower and, once freed from the constraints of their outer garments, they were in their element. As water sluiced down on both of them from above, Elaine's fingers, covered with shower gel supposedly lubricated Rita's breasts from behind.

"I'm not the slim young thing I used to be. Having a baby and age aren't kind to middle aged women. I'm not up to sexual athletics in the shower," Rita apologised in a moment of self- consciousness.

"Don't worry darling, neither am I. You'll find out just how much I desire you when we're out of the shower," urged Elaine soothingly, seeing her role as seductress open up before her. One of them had to carry the load, she thought as both of them emerged from the shower feeling cleansed and glowing all over, towels wrapped temporarily round each other.

"And so to for bed," Rita murmured pleasurably for them both, closing the window to the back garden as the smoky smell of the neighbour's barbecue came wafting through. Leave the outdoor meat eaters to it, they both thought cheekily to themselves as they cast aside their robes As Elaine lay on her back. Rita started kissing and caressing her with all the confidence in the world. She knew where her fingers were heading as she reflected that life as a middle-aged lesbian still had so much to offer them both.

*******

While John became preoccupied with his latest affair, inevitably he had less time for his newfound friends than he had. After all, his desires whether for lust or for justice, had vigorously propelled him forward in his life and only in his quieter moments for reflection had he given himself time to reflect. He was on the point of wining and dining his latest conquest, and his smooth tongue composed the words that would most resonate with the attractive young thing the other side of the candlelit meal when other visions intruded. He was conscious of the extraordinary power of Nikki's brown eyes, Helen's laughing face and Margaret's blue eyed sharpness of intellect, when the woman whose name he couldn't for the life of him remember said to him.

"You were in the middle of saying something, John?"

"It doesn't matter," he lied to himself before he repeated his smooth-talking line and concentrated on the matter in hand as he always did. Nevertheless, he knew that circumstances would propel him back into the orbit of his friends. At least, he consoled himself with the thought that his current liaison didn't place him within the sights of the vengeful Lord Chancellor's Department or the Home Office.

There was one item of unfinished business he found time to catch up on which was just how the Hollambys found out that he was acting as trustee. As he sat in his chambers, he pondered awhile before picking up the phone to check with Claire Walker.

"I would like some assistance on a private matter that concerns our mutual friend, Margaret Winter. I'm not sure I mentioned it to you but suspiciously soon after her will was drawn up with me as executor, the Hollambys came round and tried to bully and bluster their way in me ceasing to act for them. Can you think of anyone who might have had access to it?"

A wide grin spread across Coope's face as she overheard the conversation. Naturally, she knew all about the background to the incident concerned.

"So any file requested after the will was made would need to have booked out to the solicitor concerned?" observed John with great satisfaction." I think we have the makings of a complaint to the Law Society. If a barrister had appeared before me and compromised his client in the way that your colleague has done, he'd be out so quickly

his feet wouldn't touch the floor. I'm sure that it will be easy enough for you to track down the culprit."

On the other end of the phone, Claire was fuming. Somehow, she'd never heard of this incident and she was out for payback time against this senior solicitor who had treated her with veiled contempt as a naïve, inexperienced upstart and had gone behind his back in this underhand fashion. She felt betrayed on a personal level and compromised on a professional level. Immediately, she shot down to the filing room and approached the young junior in charge. She was only too willing to help as Claire and her clerk had always treated the nervous girl with kindness and consideration while Jim Patterson treated her with lordly contempt.

"I thought it was strange him wanting your file but I'd have only been told off if I'd questioned him, me only a year out of school," she said nervously.

With grim satisfaction, Claire saw the way the file had been marked out to Jim Patterson. Of course, she hadn't any proof what he'd done or said but she wasn't badly placed. After all, she only had a high court judge as a witness.

Two months later, as Jim Patterson was sitting in his office, the worst day in his life started the moment an official looking envelope was received, one his long suffering secretary had taken one look at and didn't want to touch with a bargepole.

"Dear Mr Patterson

You are summoned to appear before the Law Society to answer a complaint of gross professional misconduct………………"

The rest of the letter faded into oblivion as his mind immediately jumped back in time to the little bit of help he'd given his mate Bob Hollamby, a fellow Mason. What would happen to his self-important status in society, his close circle of Masonic friends, his immaculate large detached house, and his family? This couldn't be real, he thought as his hand shook and the solid foundations in his life were shaking underneath him. He would become an outcast, a nothing, a broken man, ruined by one little indiscretion. Who on earth could have done this to him? Who on earth could have grassed him up?


	64. Chapter 64

Scene Sixty-Four

A long time ago, Claire had explained the terms of Margaret's will when she had talked about 'such heirs of your union, for your heirs, should you go down the IVF route.' Both women had flushed with pleasure of such legalized public acceptance. The idea had lain dormant at the back of Helen's mind while the rush of urgent business swept them onwards. As she now reached a period of calm in her life, she took stock of her life as she saw how dependable a lover Nikki was like no other she had known. Slowly, the dormant idea had risen to the surface, linked with a long ago dream of her future. She had always had a facility to look beyond what was immediately there and decided to broach the idea.

"So now we've slain all the dragons and fought the good fights, what of our future?" Helen asked one night as the shades were drawing in. She was expertly conjuring up a salad dinner for them both while Nikki was giving the small screwdriver one last turn in reassembling the kettle plug after the fuse had blown.

As Helen had her back to her, Nikki couldn't see where this conversation was leading but she knew Helen did. This was one of the increasingly rare occasions when Helen wasn't coming out upfront with what she wanted. After a pause, she laid the screwdriver aside and the words she had been searching for finally came off the top of her tongue.

"You've always had a thing for strategic plans ever since I've known you, darling. I can feel in my bones that there's one coming up right now."

The smaller woman turned round with an uncertain look in her eyes, which Nikki spotted straight off. She didn't know to make of the situation.

"I'm not sure how you'll take this one but do you agree that we've settled down nicely together."

"Couldn't be better, babes," Nikki said, extending her arms forwards onto her lover's shoulders. She was startled to find how tense her partner's body felt and now she was seriously worried. Such a thing had never happened before.

"We've talked about this a long time ago," Helen said in uncertain tones and a glimmering of a suspicion crept into the taller woman's mind. "There's one thing that would make us complete and I'm really, really wanting it for both of us and that's for us to have a baby together."

To Helen's intense disappointment, the light went out of Nikki face. It said everything Helen had most feared. The conversation petered out to neither woman's satisfaction as both of them backed off with meaningless politeness.

While Nikki lay in bed that night, she churned the whole matter over in her mind. It felt as if there was a chasm running between the two women, which Nikki didn't like one bit. She knew she'd made a mess of the situation and had fallen below her self-imposed standards in communication with anyone she felt close with, let alone her lover. She realised that before she could talk to Helen about the matter, she had to be able to talk to herself. Finally, she got to the heart of the matter and at that point, drifted off to sleep. As they got home the following night, Nikki knew it was down to her to start the talking. She couldn't stand another evening of unresolved tension.

"Helen, I'm really sorry about last night. I know I messed up when you talked about having a baby, going down the IVF route…" Nikki said in apologetic tones. She caught Helen's eye whose heart started to melt. Nikki never looked more attractive than when she looked apologetic and, to do her credit, had never consciously exploited this facility. Helen gestured to her partner to continue and, to her inexpressible relief, it opened the door.

"This is all new to me darling," Nikki confessed with a wry half-smile." I mean I did say once that there were ways of having a child. I didn't say I knew all the ins and outs. Quite frankly, I'm nervous about the whole idea. I feel inadequate, as if I won't be up to being a parent. I did think about it all last night. I mean I didn't really turn my back on you."

"I know darling," Helen said softly as she felt the nuances of what Nikki was saying. This time when they moved forward to embrace each other, each felt receptive of the other. Everything felt right this time, as it should be. "Then we'll go forward blindly together into our future and trust to our instincts," Helen said, the challenging light of amusement in her voice audible as she spoke into Nikki's ear, her lips brushing Nikki's skin.

"You seem pretty confident all of a sudden," murmured Nikki as they drew back slightly to look into each other's eyes, her gaze searching deep into her lover's psyche. The thought of a life-changing event in the offing hadn't totally soothed her nerves but the idea didn't seem overpoweringly frightening than it had done the other night. Only now was Nikki owning up to the depths of her fears.

"I've done the background research, trust me babes. Besides, I've got confidence in ourselves and in our friends to help."

"You mean you'll rope in Trisha to help, for instance," guessed Nikki perfectly correctly." I didn't think she was the maternal type."

"You need to define your terms, babes. Just what is the 'maternal type?' Besides, it will be a challenge," grinned Helen persuasively." You'll love it once you get into it just as they will. You'll make a great mother because that's what you will be. I know it even if you don't."

********

Margaret could tell that there was something up as soon as her friends entered the threshold. A suppressed smile lurked on Nikki's expressive features while a glowing aura surrounded Helen, something Margaret hadn't come across before. She didn't know what it all signified but she opted to confront whatever there was out there as she laid out the tea tray for them all.

"So what's new that happened to you? It looks like good news for you both."

"Well," Helen said slowly, looking like the cat that had cornered the market in fresh cream." It looks like our plan has succeeded."

"Darlings, kindly stop talking in riddles and come to the point."

"Margaret, how do you fancy the idea of becoming a surrogate grandmother to a Stewart-Wade child? It's all our own handiwork- apart from the wonders of IVF."

For the first time in a very long time, Margaret was thrown into a complete tizzy. She was violently assaulted by a perfect kaleidoscope of images of what a grandmother should be, straight out of the depths of an unconsciousness that she never knew ever existed. This scary image of an expert on babies and childrearing, all overlaid by a gravely responsible behaviour rose up before her eyes, something like her long estranged sister, Constance. Everything she had achieved in her life rose up and roared in her ears that she was emphatically not that kind of person. As her mouth opened and closed, Nikki and Helen felt stricken by remorse but, for once in their lives, neither of them could find the right words. Somehow, words came out of Margaret's mouth as best as she could.

"Well, er, this is all highly flattering and I'd want to help out somehow but can you imagine me as a grandmother figure? I don't know how you did it, babies not being part of my experience apart from having been one a long time ago. Can you imagine me changing nappies? I confess I don't know one end of a baby from another."

"Just relax Margaret. Think of yourself as being a positive presence in the life of a growing child," Helen said in her most soothing tones. Nikki looked on affectionately, deeply empathising with Margaret's plight. She remembered standing in Margaret's shoes when Helen had finally sweet-talked her round and they both worked their way through the medical bureaucracy until finally they heard the good news today.

"We don't know what being two mothers to a baby is all about. I know that Helen will be dragging me along to ante natal classes like the classroom swot that she is. You know what she's like. We just want you to grow into our baby's life along with the babysitters who have promised to help out."

The twinkle in Nikki's eye told Margaret that she wasn't the only lesbian that was headed for a steep learning curve. The fact that she wasn't going to carry the weight single-handed caused that spiralling sense of panic start to dip down again. The older woman started to calm down as she sank back into her chair.

"Babies grow into children who need advice about the world she or he will grow into. Who better than you?" Helen said quietly in a serious tone of voice.

"I think I'll have a cup of tea while I think this over. It's a big responsibility, which I don't take lightly. You must respect my feelings.'

Her friends knew in their heart of hearts that the chances were that Margaret would come through for them if they gave her time.

******

As the months went on and Helen's belly started to swell, Nikki was torn two ways. She felt pride in the product of their love and, it had to be admitted, to their pride in the genius inventor of IVF. As they patiently underwent the endless medical appointments that resulted in Helen finally carrying the fertilised ovum from Nikki, she became nervous in wondering if their offspring would inherit, directly or indirectly, her combative temperament, a question she had never had need to ask herself before. For the first time in her life, a sneaking sense of sympathy started to work itself through into her consciousness despite her memories of strong grievances. She did wonder if she might have been a bit of a handful when she was growing up. She couldn't help laughing at herself as she wondered if here was where a radical might start to cop out in her principles and end up a conservative. It was all too crazy a prospect, she wondered in a momentary state of confusion.

It was then that the light illuminated the areas where her shadowed feelings of doubt were starting to haunt her. She saw how glowing, how radiant Helen was and it banished her confusions. Between them, it would be all right on the night.

"You go right out there and do it, Nik," Trisha said to her one evening when she and Sally-Anne came over to their flat. She knew Nikki of old and how much she would be worrying." You look upon this as an opportunity. Besides, Helen has already browbeaten us into helping out a bit."

"You never know what you can do until you try it," urged Sally-Anne in her kindest tones." Neither Trisha nor I have any great maternal urges and our lifestyle makes it impossible. Doing it second hand through you does have its attractions."

"So we'll be doing it for all you guys?" Nikki asked in that endearingly direct way of hers.

"You're not on your own, haven't got to carry the responsibility on your own," Trisha said in deadly serious tones. At once, their two friends were buoyed up, as they knew that their friends were for real.

********

The childbirth was one of those roller coaster rides in life. The mad rush to the hospital started when Helen's waters broke and they found themselves in the maternity unit, Helen flat on her back. The nurse that came to deal with them was perfectly sweet and accepting of the unusual situation of Nikki standing in place of the traditional man.

"Of course, you are most welcome to be present at the birth of your child," she said in perfectly welcoming tones. She had sized up Nikki immediately and judged that her supportive presence would do nothing but good even if she looked a trifle nervous at the prospect. That was nothing unusual.

"It's the first time for both of us," Nikki joked nervously, wishing she could light up a cigarette.

"It's bound to be the first time for every new mother," she replied with that all-inclusive look that calmed them both down. If everyone around them treated them as perfectly normal, what was there to worry about?

In retrospect, Nikki remembered vividly that right through the birth, Helen cursed and blasphemed more than she had ever heard her do in her life, and the daughter of a Scottish Minister at that.

"It's all your bloody fault, Nikki Wade for getting me bloody pregnant," she yelled while the medical staff carried on in their best imperturbable fashion. Meanwhile, Nikki tried to look on nonchalantly, knowing very well that Helen's pregnancy was a bit more deliberate than in the usual fashion.

Finally, there came the moment that is most celebrated with the flutter of angelic wings but was much more of an emotional matter than either woman could have conceived off when the product of their love finally issued forth. This wasn't the product of a couple getting drunk on a Saturday night but something they had both consciously wished for with all their hearts.

Nikki had always sworn that she was not the soppy kind but she was ridiculously proud of the tiny being that was presented for first Helen and then Nikki to hold. She was aware of the daft grin that spread across her face as much as she looked at her very tired out partner who looked on top of the world. Nikki looked at the tiny being with the minute fingers, which gripped strongly onto her little finger. It was surely the portent of things to come.


	65. Chapter 65

Scene Sixty Five

The interlude that followed was a time of unbelievable hard work, of nappy changing, disturbed nights, and washing the mound of baby clothes that contributed to the untidy piles of belongings. Both women knew that their social awareness took a bit of a dip in this sharp change in their lives. It had impinged most of all on Helen who had taken time off work on maternity leave, which she was making the most of. Both women found out immediately that being obsessively tidy and creating a child centred environment were incompatible. To their surprise, their friends from Chix found out facets of their personalities that they didn't know had existed as had Margaret as they got used to the psychically difficult job of holding little Brianna before becoming more daring. Both women were kindly accepting of their friends first few nervous steps in this direction in view of their own hurriedly acquired learning while Margaret looked on fondly at all this burst of activity

The trouble was that they could never escape the outside world even if it was their nature not to do so. It ought to have respected their natural rhythms of life and flowed onwards peacefully around them but it didn't. That would have been too convenient. There came the time when the drumbeats of war on the TV news couldn't be shut out of public consciousness. News item after news item showed bronzed enthusiastic soldiers, dressed in their multi-tones brown uniforms setting out eagerly on their posting to the Gulf just in case there is a war in Iraq despite the earnest attempt at peace moves. Perhaps the UN weapons inspector Hans Blix might be able to intervene and stop the inevitable?

"Jesus Helen, they might as well announce a battalion of cooks due to be sent out to war. The whole thing is doing my head in. There's so much repetition of the war message, that it's got to happen. Despite the nice smarmy BBC presenter, I've got the nasty feeling that there's a war coming," exclaimed Nikki one evening when their little Brianna had finally settled off for her afternoon sleep in her carrycot. They had come to snatch the precious moments when they had only each other in their lives and not taken them for granted as they now saw it.

"Perhaps there won't be a war," Helen said thoughtfully. "I mean, the whole idea is sheer bloody insanity. No matter what a bastard Saddam Hussein might be, the Iraqis aren't going to just roll over and give up. I wouldn't if I were in their shoes."

"Don't you be too sure about that? I have a nasty feeling about it. What sort of a world are we bringing our child into?" came Nikki's sombre response. This moment contrasted with that magic occasion when they and their friends had put a spoke in Neil Haughton's wheel in his attempts to push the country towards a police state. Right now, they felt so helpless and impotent. That went against their natures. To make it worse, his political master appeared on TV with that over-earnest tone in his voice, his gleaming white teeth and those chilling blue eyes.

**"No one wants conflict... Even now, I hope that conflict with Iraq can be avoided," he said with hands outstretched, apparently pleading to be understood." **Even now, I hope that Saddam can come to his senses, co-operate fully and disarm peacefully, as the UN has demanded."

"It sounds good but it's all shit. For sheer brass neck in blatant lying, that bastard has got Fenner beaten for fast footwork. He's way smarmier. Fenner couldn't keep up his act for very long," Nikki replied in acid angry tones, feeling helpless and frustrated. Now that they were both mothers, they had a bigger stake in wanting a better world than ever before.

"That's only because Fenner wasn't at the wrong end of the TV screen. If either of us got at him in person without his minders, he'd soon drop his saintly pose."

On another night, the precise same news programme started replaying khaki clad visions marching across their TV screen ready to go to war. Gemma was round to keep them company and, like them, she was sickened not only by the militarism unveiled but its numbing repetition. They felt as if they were stuck in a time loop from which they couldn't break free. Nikki clicked the remote control to see if there was any alternative and, to her disgust, the same broadcast carried on without skipping a beat. The expression on Gemma's face told them that this said everything about the times in which they were living. At that moment, their phone started ringing and a flash of irritation played across Helen's face, as she feared that the urgent sounds would wake their baby as opposed to the soporofic sounds of the TV foretelling doom and destruction. She made a remarkably agile leap across the room and pulled it off the hook.

"You've seen the news over the last few nights, Helen. It doesn't look good," John said in sombre tones.

"Got it in one," Helen replied in flat tones.

"Well, why not come and see Tony Benn talk at the Methodist Central Hall? He's on a talking circuit, the one honest politician that's left."

"Didn't know there was such a thing," retorted Helen, speaking off the top of her head." I mean that's such an oxymoron, isn't it."

"The man is talked about as an honoured elder statesmen now he's no longer a direct political threat. Believe you me, he was regarded as evil incarnate, a left wing fanatic, someone who should be stopped, someone whose eyes revolved like Catherine wheels," broke in Gemma in determined, excited tones. "You really ought to get out there and smell the gunpowder again. It would do you both good."

"How are we going to do that?" Helen asked. In reality, they both had a tendency towards a psychological umbilical cord that was keeping them tied to the flat.

"I've already seen Tony Benn very recently when he did a talk in Derby. Besides, the two of you have ganged up on the rest of us to be more baby friendly. It's about time I put what I've learnt into practice and for you to go out."

Helen thought carefully in the silence that ensued. There was a lot in what she said about the change in her life and Nikki's. Besides, she had got to know Gemma as someone whose faultless political instincts had to be respected. For such a lesbian feminist to respect this guy, he had to have something going about him. When John's advice was taken in conjunction, then there was something going for it. After all, was evening television so gripping that they couldn't bear to be dragged away from?

*******

Sure enough, John, Gemma, Nikki and Helen filed expectantly into the Methodist Central Hall, a cleanly austere, distinguished looking, grey domed building where they climbed the staircase and entered the large meeting hall. They had a curious feeling of deja vu in entering a conference facility except that, this time, it was on their side, depending on how this figure out of old newspapers and mythical accounts turned out to be. While it felt strange to be out in the evening and their shared umbilical chord to Brianna was tangible, just for once they were out for the evening.

They were struck by the fact that only a few elderly commissioners were on duty and, right at the back of the hall, a large church organ whose different sized tubes extended upwards. The two women found seats half way towards the stage. There was a chair, a small table with a glass of water and otherwise a complete absence of external props. Suddenly from out of nowhere, appeared a tallish man with silver white hair, wearing an open-necked shirt and an unpretentious cardigan. He was smartly dressed and carried himself erect but with none of that modern showbiz gold dust glitter about him. He began to speak in patrician tones that proclaimed him as nothing more than the natural man, not denying or distorting his identity in the slightest way.

After a preamble, he explained that he had been blessed with unique experiences of meeting historical figures, including Mahatma Ghandi, when he descended from his Olympian heights to give his perspective of modern times.

"The student loan system is iniquitous. There should be a tax on wealth not on education. The average student will end up with a student loan with a £12,500 debt round their neck and what happens later on if they want to take out a mortgage? For this reason, people in this situation are unlikely to become critics of society."

A peculiar smile played across Nikki's lips when that shaft of perception dropped on her consciousness and she gave a sideways glance at John, whose broad grin showed that he'd picked up the stray thought. He'd been the product of the university grants system, as had the generation of New Labour politicians in their long forgotten youth. They had come to occupy the commanding heights of the political system, having used the education system as a ladder to climb with only to kick the ladder away that their successors might have used.

"While there was a debate about the movement of people, asylum seekers, there isn't one about the movement of money where the company that made Dyson Vacuum Cleaners is relocating to Malaysia where they can pay rock bottom wages. What I find extraordinary is at the end of the news, there is an increasing part of it devoted to latest figures on the Dow Jones index. It is a hymn to capitalism, part of the religion of money. I mean why not feature figures on the number of those who are homeless. You know, I remember a very funny joke where an Englishman said to a Frenchman that they haven't got an equivalent word for 'entrepreneur.'"

Nikki laughed out loud at this man's outrageous and refreshing ability to see the world in different terms than convention had it. This 'off the wall' approach immediately grabbed her interest.

"You have to realize the extraordinary power that those at the heights of capitalism take for granted. I remember when I was Minister for Industry and Henry Ford came to visit me and treated me as if I was a parish councilor. That illustrates the power of money and you have to understand that in America, Big Business buys both political parties and this is a process that is starting to happen here."

"That's what the judge's been saying," breathed Helen. Neil Haughton, four minds thought immediately. The man was such a self-centred careerist without the slightest conception for the plight of the common person so that he might so easily have ended up in any of the main political parties. The fact that he had come to take sigh a high political office wasn't just a victory of the political apparatchiks, as John had always supposed, but a glaring instance of the rottenness of the system which this wise man was outlining with such calm and clear vision. He was someone who had gone through the political process and, very unusually, retained his purity.

"You know, a long memory in politics is an absolute necessity. Back in 1983, Iran was the official enemy and Iraq as the friend of the British government and America sold chemical weapons to Saddam Hussein. You must understand above all else that everything that is going on in Afghanistan and Iraq is all about oil and nothing else. That's the one and only concern with the country and the plan is so futile. If you really want to strengthen a country like Iraq right now against you, then bomb it."

It was this last sentence that struck home to all four of them. It lodged in their guts and decided their destinies. The weasel words about standing up against oppressive dictators was laid bare as the sham that it was, one more con trick. They knew what they had to do, if only they could find the connections.

After the break, they were fascinated to see how he held the attention of the audience after his hour long lecture, in an hour long question and answer session on very complex issues where he confessed right at the end that he was struggling for an answer.

"This guy is a genuine human being, a walking compendium of history, that's been well absorbed and lived through," Nikki said excitedly as they filed out of the conference hall, up high on the lucid level of debate to Gemma's cheerful purposefulness." We really ought to get out there and do something."

"If you want to find the connection, you need look no further Nikki. You should know that I've a record as long as your arm for involvement in various subversive political organizations. I happen to know that on February 15th, there's a plan for the biggest demonstration that this country that's ever been seen in London, right on our doorstep. We've just gotta be there," Gemma said in excited tones, virtually hopping from one foot to another.

Something in the two women couldn't help but respond to the occasion. The fact of them being responsible for a baby made them more, not less committed despite the fact that they could no longer get out and about at the drop of a hat. They had an additional member of their family in their lives for whom commitment made sense.

"You too, judge," Gemma said in joking tones that were anything but. "You've often told me about your sit-in days and that they're over. Perhaps that's the case but does that mean you can't join in a peaceful demonstration?"

Gemma's pleading tones and the look in her eye had its effect on John. Besides, he had trouble in resisting an attractive woman as Gemma still was. The thought of sneaking out of the judge's digs onto a demonstration had its irresistible attractions.

"All right Gemma, count me in. My only reservation is that I don't want to end up in the national papers," John said in stern tones.

Gemma smiled to herself. She knew by the size of the march that the odds were astronomically against that happening. The whole idea of the march felt like a fantasy in her head but she pledged her faith just one more time that this fantasy would become reality. She suspected that this idea would spread round their friends at Chix and set fire the flames of imagination, something the world was desperately short of.

*******

Bobby Hollamby tottered downstairs to pick up a copy of the Sun that he had delivered to tell him and Sylv what to think.

"BRITS 45 MINUTES FROM DOOM," the screaming headlines said. It alarmed him but he had no choice but to show it to the wife. She would find out anyway.

"You do promise me that if Saddam Hussain does send over his murdering bombs and, you know, we are in the garage where the coffins are that you'll look after me even if, that sad moment should happen."

"Don't worry, Sylv. I'll stand up to Saddam Hussain- with my bare hands," he said, assuming a pugilistic pose. It was one of those rare moments when Bodybag felt romantically inclined to her Bobby despite their many disagreements over the years. It was curious how it took the supposed threat of physical anihillation to achieve that.


	66. Chapter 66

Scene Sixty-Six

During the run up to the demonstration on February 15th, Gemma felt as if life had plugged her into an energy source that had directed her to run at express speed down this groove in her life. It made her feel incredibly centred and relaxed in herself – or at least as far as her rediscovery of political involvement allowed her to be. The forthcoming date was a huge presence in her mind on which her perspective was focussed, something bigger than she had ever been seen before. In another era, this might have been political fantasizing but the inner word in her ear was that this would become reality.

"I can tell that you've been around the political scene for a long time," a polite young man had said respectfully to her. The intensive debate about the war at a public meeting had spilled over into a number of conversations in this smoke-filled church hall of the kind that brought back old memories. Only a few of the radical newspapers were left draped over his arm after he had sold out most of the sheaf he'd brought along to the meeting. She had stumbled across this group in her travels round London when a perfect stranger had offered her a leaflet as she passed by a stall. Ever curious, she had read it carefully and thought, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"It might not necessarily have been your kind of politics. I'm a lesbian feminist from way back," Gemma had said guardedly. She thought she ought to put all her cards on the table but to her surprise, the guy looked perfectly relaxed about the matter. It hadn't always been so.

"Does it matter right now? I'm rubbing shoulders with Christian pacifists and Moslems and surprisingly enough, we speak the same language. While I might not agree with everything they say and vice versa, we overwhelmingly agree that this war is immoral and a disaster waiting to happen. Would some of your friends be willing to come to the next meeting to get more involved?"

"I don't know," Gemma said reluctantly." They agree with everything that's said tonight but they've got their lives to lead, their own priorities. A couple of them have a baby to look after." As she spoke, she had that shrinking feeling of intense guilt that she was letting these people down who were just regular guys, not political crazies. She hadn't been a quarter as tolerant of Margaret and Julia at that meeting all those years ago. The sympathetic look in the guy's eye told her that he understood her dilemma.

"Fair enough," he said quite reasonably." Why don't you form your own group and bring them down on the demonstration? It might be better coming from you than me."

As the light bulb went off in her mind, Gemma danced around on her tiptoes, a big smile spreading across her face. Despite her grey hairs and the advancing years, she felt young again. She might have kissed the guy if he wasn't, well a guy. Her first step in her organizing mode of thinking was to call round to see Nikki and Helen and combine it with a social call. In turn, the man felt happy in having steered this woman gently in the right direction. He knew that this woman would run with the idea and who knows where she'd stop?

As the weeks went by, Nikki and Helen were beginning to have second thoughts about going on the demonstration. They felt terribly conflicted at the possibility that their beloved daughter might be exposed to serious harm, if only because the demonstration was as big as Gemma foretold. On the other hand, they didn't want to miss out on what was promising to be the biggest party in town. It was only by chance that Brianna subsided after her energetic activity that drained the two women's energies when Helen randomly turned the television on and a man's face suddenly filled the screen. Instantly, they were repelled by him and to their total shock and horror, the bottom caption announced the presence of Neil Haughton Home Secretary.

"Jesus, Helen. I can't believe it," Nikki exclaimed. The remote control lay inside Helen's frozen fingers. Some instinct prompted her not to obliterate the man's face or replace it with an alternative channel. This was the judge's mortal enemy who had popped up out of nowhere in a critical moment in their lives. They had to hear him out.

"I am appealing to you, the British people, in this grave hour when the destiny of the world is on both our shoulders and our transatlantic brothers in arms to ask each and every one of you to consider the threat posed to the British way of life. We've all grown up in a society governed by reasoned debate, of tolerance of respecting opposing views - in other words, the age-old democratic process to decide how we should move forward. Lurking in the depths are the forces of violence whose only language is of the bomb and the bullet, of religious fanatics bitterly opposed to the British way of life. Secretly, Saddam Hussein has rearmed his country so that he has weapons poised to deliver weapons of mass destruction within forty-five minutes. Where do we get this information, I hear you say? Well, the answer is easy. Our intelligence services have compiled a detailed intelligence dossier to back this claim to the hilt with irrefutable facts and logic. The finger of suspicion points one way and one way only. Even at this late stage, the Prime Minister is seeking the adoption of a motion through the United Nations to resolve the situation amicably but the prospects of this succeeding is not totally certain. Our hopes go out to the negotiators. Last of all, our hearts must go out to the brave boys in khaki as they ready themselves for the possibility, if need be, to go to war in a just cause but only if we need to. Let there be no doubt, right is on our side."

"I feel sick," Nikki said in choking tones. In one fell swoop, the man had instantly hardened her resolve. They had to be out there on the streets come what may.

"Not you as well. I have enough trouble in the daytime with Brianna," Helen retorted. Sure enough, the patch on her shoulder announced how she'd comforted and 'winded' the crying baby only for the source of her discomfort to be deposited on Helen's top.

Helen's witticism made Nikki laugh shortly before a grim expression settled across her face. The smaller woman knew what was coming and, come to think about it, she felt the same.

"You know we've got to do it, darling if only to spit in the eye of that smug bastard," she said with ominously quiet force of expression."We owe it to our self-respect."

"It feels like a military operation to gather everything together," Helen murmured in thoughtful mood as she carefully considered the logistics without going into a blind panic." All right, we go for it- so long as you don't mind your share of carting Brianna on your back. Is that a deal?"

"The girls will help as well as me. You know they will. All we've got to do is to be careful and prudent," Nikki answered her partner's forceful hard bargaining with easy acquiescence.

"You be careful and prudent? That will be the day," Helen retorted sticking out her tongue to which Nikki picked up a cushion, which sailed past her partner's head. Helen's teasing could be so provoking, Nikki decided fretfully.

In the meantime, Neil Haughton walked off the TV hotspot to chat with the sympathetic producer in the 'hospitality room' over a gin and tonic. He felt that his old persuasive flair hadn't deserted him, that facility for words that had made him a fortune in advertising before choosing a second career in politics. After all, putting over the message wasn't so greatly different between the two areas of life, was it?.

*******

"Hey Margaret," Helen called out as she fiddled with a felt writer and piece of paper as she sought inspiration for her first draft for their home made poster while Nikki changed Brianna's nappy. Already, it felt that their little daughter was asserting her personality in wriggling as she lay on her back, resisting Nikki's best efforts. "We're trying to devise a picket sign to carry on the demonstration. I'm torn between 'Dykes against the war' and 'lesbians against the war.'"

"Am I the best person to ask, darling? You know that my outrageousness might take us too far," Margaret replied, watching Nikki's patient manoeuvrings with great interest. "If it's left to me, I'd choose the first for that reason."

"'Dykes against the war' sounds punchy, a statement of our existence. The other sounds just too polite," Trisha said in a meditative tone of voice.

"You're forgetting that we'll be in largely straight company who might not understand. Why not keep it plain and straightforward? Just for once in our lives, being 'out and proud' isn't the main thing in our lives. I sense that being against the war and saying who we are is enough," offered Sally Anne quietly.

A murmured assent ran round the room as Sally's solid common sense cut to the core of the situation. Both Trisha and Margaret graciously deferred to this superior wisdom.

"What about the judge?" Claire suddenly asked out of nowhere to a general affectionate laugh round the group at the prospect.

"He'll be all right. The judge will be the judge wherever he is," Nikki answered, a little defensively on her part as she picked up their daughter and cradled her affectionately.

*******

"A million demonstrators in the streets of London?" said Sir Ian in worried tones to Lawrence James." The city will grind to a halt."

"It doesn't have to be reported as such. The word is that there'll only be sixty thousand there," Lawrence James said in flat emotionless tones."Who'll know any different?"

"How the devil do you know that figure?" Sir Ian asked in puzzlement to which his subordinate looked blankly back and shrugged his shoulders. The answer was obvious.

******

Two nights before the demonstration, they got together to discuss final tactics as they had done for the conference except that Gemma led the discussion by common consent. Helen suggested Trisha and Sally Anne sleeping over at over at their flat, the rest at Margaret's and arranging to meet at the demonstration but Gemma vetoed the idea firmly.

"No no, Helen. You haven't got a cat's chance in hell of arranging to meet in the largest demonstration there's ever been. It's not going to happen. We must all sleep over at Margaret's if that's possible."

"It is," confirmed Margaret, sensing her friend's passionate conviction. "Julia told me that her parents threw large parties years ago and somehow room was found." She rather fancied the idea of all her friends staying over for the night.

"Have you been on a demonstration before, judge?" Gemma asked John soliciting his help, sensing Helen's expression of slight irritation in lugging their thousand and one belongings over for the night.

"Not for a long time," admitted John in his smooth accommodating tones." Still, from what I remember, it might be prudent to all stick together. I'm happy to bed down where there's six spare feet just as long as I have a chance to wash and shave first thing in the morning."

"All right, we'll follow your advice since you're our expert," Helen conceded reluctantly. She had been inclined to think that Gemma's vibrant, insistent enthusiasm was going over the top but she wasn't inclined to make waves over the issue.

In the quiet that followed, there was a polite tap on the door. Margaret went to open the door wondering just who it could be, intrigued as to who this might be, closely followed by John whose inquisitive nature couldn't be suppressed. There in the wide gap appeared Rita's broadly grinning face, holding hands with Elaine who was the first to speak.

"You didn't think you're leaving us out of this. We've come to join in this time," she said in her most challenging tones.

"You don't think I wouldn't know about this plan with your other schemes, judge. You've got too used to us working behind the scenes and not being there. Besides, Nikki and Helen could do with some help looking after your baby. You need help from a professional," Rita lectured John severely with a twinkle in her eye, taking in the amused faces behind John as she effortlessly took charge of the situation.

********

It was an unseasonably sunny February day as the dawn found every bed taken up at Margaret's house, not to say settee and the odd chaise longue and bleary eyes separated themselves when Brianna gave voice for her demands to be seen to. Better than an alarm clock, thought Jenny as she stared at the high white ornamental ceiling overhead. As if by common consent, they finally all got up and got dressed in informal jeans and T-shirt wear, suitable for the outdoors. Margaret was one of the exceptions, wearing her usual flowing dress and flat walking shoes. She had been up bright and early, and reached for a black walking stick with a peculiar, curly brown handle. The others supposed that, as always, she knew what she was doing. Rita and Elaine also opted for their usual outfits, having checked the weather forecast and having confidence that the weather would suddenly turn nasty.

John emerged from the bathroom, hair tousled but clean-shaven and fresh. Wearing a short-sleeved red shirt and black trousers, he lost none of his presence. The large pink poster with 'lesbians against the war' picked out in large white capitals caught Jenny's eye as she emerged, hair even more tousled than normal. Finally, a distracted Helen and Nikki emerged, the one with a rucksack stuffed with various belongings and the other with a peacefully sleeping baby in an equivalent arrangement. _Thank God, Brianna wasn't quite at the crawling stage or the whole idea would have been impossible_, both women thought thankfully. In short order, they slipped off out of the house, holding the placard pointing discreetly downwards in respectable Hampstead, as the streets were quiet. They came to the redbrick underground station and made their way down the winding staircases ready for the familiar Northern Line to take them to their destination. So far, everything today was normal and therefore felt unreal.

.


	67. Chapter 67

Scene Sixty Seven

To begin with, the other passengers on the tube were perfectly normal commuters who maintained their hilly distance as befitted etiquette. The two groups sat silently on the tube while the familiar whining sounds transported them from stop to stop. From Kings Cross/ St Pancras onwards, a crowd of pleasantly dishevelled people of all ages started to pack the train solid all the way down to Charing Cross. The atmosphere started to change as these people chatted amongst themselves in a friendly fashion. Jenny caught sight of various hand-made posters and her mouth opened. One poster caught her eye of this faked up 'rock tour poster' but this was no ordinary artifact. This was the 'US Imperialism World Tour' announcing the various countries that had been invaded over the years as if they were cities this mythical rock group had played at. She caught the humour immediately as a good portent of what was to follow. A grin spread across her face as she nudged Claire in the ribs.

"Hey, we're not the only protesters around," she exclaimed to the others.

"Well, we ought to exchange messages. It's only good manners," Margaret intervened as she caught the drift of the conversation, which Rita and Elaine immediately agreed with. This would be the ultimate test of their acceptability. All the others knew that Margaret's judgment was finely honed from all her experiences reaching back over the decades. They embraced her confidence willingly.

Trisha had temporarily taken charge of the placard and now she exhibited it for all to see. The young student type saw it and a wide grin spread across his face. It felt so good to him that an assorted group of women of different ages from a completely different background were with them, heart and soul. He wasn't sure what to make of the middle-aged guy who appeared to be friends with them but that wasn't of any consequence. None of the normal trivial preoccupations mattered on a day like this. Immediately he started to engage them in conversation and they responded in that state of heightened sensibility that transcended normal conventions. They had been strangers up until this moment and now they suddenly weren't. Suddenly, the tube train was this friendly rattling machine that transported them to where they were destined to be. The regular commuters faded into the background as they felt threatened by something dangerous and sought disengagement by reading their trashy free papers. By contrast, the growing crowd surged out of the train, John feeling increasingly at home. They poured onto the change of train to the Embankment just as Gemma had directed. There was a certain flamboyance about the crowd that appealed to Margaret's theatrical nature. She was thoroughly at home in this environment of understanding young people.

It was only when they emerged into the daylight from the Embankment underground station that they realized how the crowd had expanded exponentially into this huge gathering of people all around them with no sign of the normal fast-moving traffic. Helen's mouth opened wide as she realized that she couldn't tell if they were at the front, middle or end of the march. Gemma reacted in exactly the same way as she realized that her political fantasies had underestimated the reality before her very eyes. Nikki felt an emotional charge through her system as she realized immediately that everyone was friendly disposed. She could feel it through her guts.

"Excuse me," a voice called from behind Helen," I wouldn't want your baby to be squashed."

Helen spun round to see this elderly white haired woman trying to give space to the sleeping Brianna on her back. Margaret looked on fondly as the perfect manners of Julia's family were exhibited in the person of this well- spoken woman who looked more used to tending her suburban garden. Instead, she was carrying a CND banner with a sense of natural pride. Helen immediately engaged her in conversation under the bright sunlight.

John looked beyond the crowds to see the brown swirling waters of the River Thames race upstream to the Houses of Parliament and felt good about himself in contrast to the fetid air in the government legislature that felt increasingly irrelevant and out of synch with the human thrust of society. He felt good about himself, as after all, wasn't he just a middle-aged guy who happened to be following his conscience like so many others were?

The sharp-eyed Trisha looked at the interesting placards all around them. One took her eye straightaway and at first, she thought there was a spelling mistake as the word 'Bliar' appeared in solid black type with red spots spattered on the placard. A grin spread across her face when she realized that there was no mistake at all. The humour and directness appealed to her straightaway- after all this wordplay was pure Nik. She looked around and spotted the place where the placards were being given out. She raced over and collected a couple of them from the polite steward of the march and came back grinning."I thought you weren't really into politics Trisha," challenged Helen as an ear splitting cry came from Brianna and Nikki raced to lift her off the smaller woman's back to comfort her in her arms.

"Times have changed, Helen," explained Trisha quite imperturbably. "Mind you, I really couldn't do this for a living. Sally and I still have a club to run and everything that goes with it."

Now they had got their bearings, there followed a period of standing around and looking around at all the colourful banners. Time stood still as there was no feeling that they had to hurry off anywhere. Some of them struck up conversations with interested observers, especially Jenny who propped herself against their banner. In the meantime, Margaret fiddled with her curiously shaped walking stick and, all of a sudden, it expanded out to become a 'shooting stick,' a seat on top of the cane on which she sat down comfortably.

"Julia's brother's old shooting stick that he used when he went to the races," Margaret explained blandly to the others." I did wonder if there was going to be a lot of standing about so I wasn't going to risk being a burden to the rest of you."

John stood around, feeling that his normal relationship with the ever-dependable Coope was being put on hold and, at last, he could see Rita and felt her obvious closeness with Elaine. It did his heart good. In turn, Rita had never seen this man so relaxed and calm, as the sunlight played on his features.

"Can I have your attention," a female voice suddenly sounded indistinctly from a megaphone somewhere in the growing crowd." This is definitely the biggest demonstration that has taken place in this city ever. There is a second march situated at Gower Street which will feed in behind our column as otherwise the march could not function. There are coaches heading down from all over the country to join us. For example, I have a report that there are thirteen coaches coming down from Derby, I repeat thirteen. Preliminary estimates are that there are expected to be at least a million people on this march….."

There was a pause and then a chorus of yelling out of pure joy split the air. Only when it died down did the same voice, shaking slightly with emotion added," You, I mean we, should feel proud of ourselves."

"Which way are we going when we march?" Helen asked as the occasional whistle blew in the background. She might have felt that they were hanging around for ages if she wasn't feeling so comfortable in her skin. While people were becoming more packed in, she felt surprisingly safe, both for herself and their baby.

.

"I'd say we'll be moving off towards the Houses of Parliament but not too close- we shouldn't want to upset the sensitivities of our Members of Parliament with our shouting," Gemma explained acidly, the gentle breeze ruffling her long hair.

"I'd like to march right up to 10 Downing Street instead and give that man a piece of my mind," Margaret exclaimed

.

"I'm afraid it's off the march route. Besides, there are twelve foot high wrought iron gates that you couldn't get past, not without a permit to show the police. We wouldn't get one," Gemma said flatly

"Oh, they don't show that on the news," replied Jenny, disappointed. She hadn't known that before despite her years of working in London.

Finally, there was a sense of movement that rippled down from what they judged to be the front of the march and they were finally off. Trisha and Sally-Anne took especial care to walk behind Helen to protect them. John sighed with satisfaction that they were moving off at last. As they turned into Northumberland Avenue, short of the Houses of Parliament, their little group was stunned to see that the march completely filled the wide street from one side to the other and they were wedged in from all sides somewhere in the middle. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of chanting which made for a curiously relaxing feeling.

"Tell you something, Helen, I feel miles safer here than walking on my own round the corridors of Larkhall Prison. I used to feel paranoid as a matter of course," shouted Nikki to her partner above the hubbub.

"Don't mention it. If you didn't feel that someone was going to stab you in the back, there was something mentally wrong with you," Helen said cheerfully." I've never felt safer in my life."

Once past Piccadilly, they were overtaken by a curious sensation as they marched down the wide street bounded in by impressive stone buildings. They could hear a round of cheering behind them, which was not surprising given the atmosphere of the day but this was different. There was a strange echoing sound suggesting a sensation of massiveness, bouncing down the length of the street. It echoed and reechoed in a strange, almost apocalyptic fashion. All of them realized that this encapsulated the unbelievable size of the march.

"Can you hear that, Nikki? It sounds like a whole people are behind us cheering," Claire said excitedly into Helen's ear, very remarkable for such a calm, composed woman.

"Perhaps they are," the tall woman judged soberly." Don't forget that the second demonstration might have caught up with us. This is reality, not some kind of fantasy."

The entire group looked awestruck as the sounds died away. From where they were in the march, a sea of heads stretched backwards and forwards and all they knew was that they were some distance behind the front of the procession. The prospect of all these numbers was dizzying and wonderful and the reality far exceeded any superlative that could describe it.

As they marched along, some banners edged forwards in the massive procession while others slipped backwards in some natural process of osmosis. It so happened that a bearded youth with a megaphone came level with them. He started off the chanting that the entire group picked up on that punctuated the rhythms of life around them.

"George Bush terrorist….Tony Blair terrorist."

"George Bush terrorist….Tony Blair terrorist."

"George Bush terrorist….Tony Blair terrorist."

All the group went at with vim and vigour in expressing and shouting aloud their feelings with a sense of release. Meanwhile, little Brianna slept peacefully on, helped by the regular chanting rhythms which soothed her slumbers.

"Hey, this is amazing," exclaimed Nikki some time later as she pointed to the wall at the side of them. It was an image that was immediately retained on her mental retina. A number of teenage girls who you might have expected to find drifting round trendy boutiques were collectively and defiantly holding up their long handmade banner. The wind was getting up and they were especially exposed to it, their long hair being blown and ruffled by the wind. To her delighted eyes, the banner read 'Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity." She let out a peal of delighted laughter as the sentiment was so beautifully and concisely expressed. The others caught on fast and their joyful applause rang out in harmony, especially John's roar of laughter. Nikki's eye contact with the nearest girl on the platform taught her that there was a rebellious generation that was fast rising through the ranks and would follow on from her generation. It cheered her up immensely and Margaret, now walking at her side in her sprightly fashion quickly intercepted her look and smiled knowingly. She too, looked back at this splendid act of defiance, outrageousness and mischievous humour, so much in line with her own feelings over the years.

In their turn, these schoolgirls smiled widely at this group of older women with their stylish and individual placard. They'd seen an unbelievably wide stream of marchers go past, a lot of them carrying placards prepared by the antiwar movement but the individual expressions of thought and identity were especially welcome to them, having only got together in the last few weeks and feverishly met after school to work on the banner. They knew that their lives had changed and they could not consider the normal world of soaps and reality TV in the same way again. They'd be going back to school on Monday but their world had changed forever.


	68. Chapter 68

**Scene Sixty- Eight**

Finally, the enormous procession finally swung past Marble Arch and finally headed for Hyde Park and, as it did so, a new banner drifted into view 'Out- Against The War- Don't Attack Iraq.' They looked like an ordinary bunch of people at first glance.

"Out?" questioned Helen." Why the big letters on a square of lighter pink on their banner?"

"Don't you see?" Nikki called excitedly, her eyes dancing with excitement just as Gemma feverishly pointed in their direction and called out to them." Out as in out and proud."

"Aren't we all in our different ways?" murmured John mischievously from behind them. This play on words was too good a chance to miss in this heady atmosphere. Nikki just twisted her body around and grinned back at him.

In the meantime, Gemma chattered away with the others in the main group and discovered that their antiwar group, drawn from the lesbian, bisexual and transgender community had been set up the previous September and had organized a public meeting in Soho which they had publicized with street leafleting. By some unaccountable oversight, they hadn't made one to one contact with Chix. They supposed that it was something left behind or overlooked in all the flurry of months of urgent activity.

"We're really sorry we missed out on you guys," one of them said apologetically.

"Better late than never," Gemma explained, smiling kindly on the awkwardness of these younger people. She had been known to make similar screw-ups in her younger activist days and been totally unready to own up to it. "We'll stick with you for the rest of the march."

"We'd like that but anywhere on this march is the right place to be."

Gemma looked back at this understanding guy. He had said it right just like so much had been said today.

*******

Gradually the sharp memorable edges of the day, the flashing images, the patches of light and colour, the snatches of conversations grabbed mid-march all dissolved into a wonderful feeling of glorious haze of sights and sounds. Even the harsh clattering alien sounds of the overhead helicopter faded into the background. They caught occasional glimpses of more orthodox political and trade union banners in the vast throng. Their statement of identity fitted perfectly in this seething throng of people of all kinds of persuasions. Above all else, this wonderful feeling that there were more of them than they could possibly conceive was like a heady intoxicant, that this reality had outstripped Gemma's verbal fantasies of what could be. What struck all the women was the smiles they felt from everyone others around them, that this was the ultimate in public acceptance, a profound transcendent joy that their little band were accepted not just because they like all the others were against the war but of who they were. They felt it as a palpable force that energized them, that embraced them in a healing force in this streaming mass of people on the move and made them feel as never before how right their place was in the world.

Margaret was most conscious of this positivism as images of her past whirled around in her head with the richness of sensory experience, of sights and sounds and feelings. The snatches of murmurous voices gave Margaret the curious feeling that she had heard them before somewhere but she could not place where or when. At last the obvious answer dawned on her that her old friends would be bound to gravitate here, to the exact right time and place in the great scheme of things. She remembered the moments of private satisfaction of standing up for herself along with Julia, of their posing for the painting that would last through her life and far beyond it. They had had their moments of feeling part of a sorority as they circulated around Natalie Barnay's salons. This time, it was curious as there felt nothing to defy around her as all the freethinkers of various persuasions swirled around her as they walked down the Bayswater Road like some invading army that they were part of. She felt expansive, complete as her legs carried her effortlessly along the road. .

Trisha found herself quite surprised to boldly carry their placard, both hands gripping the pole and realized that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. She felt good in herself as Sally Anne was by her side and looked clearly happy in herself. Rita and Elaine clasped hands together as they walked, with that pleasant feeling that they were all equals together. It struck them as they looked around them that demonstrations wasn't a young person's pursuit but that people of all ages could join in. as they glanced around, they noticed with satisfaction that Mrs Middle England was well in evidence as well as many pleasant young people and that the most hardened looking political person politely apologized if he or she accidentally stepped on her foot. Such encounters were the kicking off point to many pleasant conversations where that traditional British reserve was carelessly cast off, like so many constricting robes.

As for John, he was aware of looks cast in their direction but it mattered not one jot. He floated along on an endless sea of tranquility like all the rest of them. As he paced along the tarmac, he was swimming in images both of the present and his own nostalgic memories of the sit-in at university. Was it he that was second or third in line to push past the ancient college gates when he was a young man and caught the eye of the charming young student that up till then, had been impervious to his charms. In the communal sleeping area, the concept of free love had been translated into a night of molten passion, the first night when they had occupied the administration block and everyone was up high with the excitement of feeling at the center of consciousness, the eye of the storm that would break down fossilized thinking. Right now, he felt exactly the same only that the feeling was bigger, the numbers grander.

They sensed that the march had come to a point where the fence ended and the march would turn at last into the park whose greenery seemed attractive. They swept round the corner into Hyde Park and were part of the crowd that swarm over the acres of green open spaces. The obvious place to make camp beckoned ahead of them, a stage from where speakers were obviously going to address them. Just as they got close, a figure spoke into one of the microphones and after testing for feedback, gave them this announcement.

"Just to let you know that the estimated number on this demonstration is two million. To put it another way, marchers on the second half of the demonstration have yet to leave their starting point on Gower Street. Just for today, this is our city."

A massive cheer rang up rose up from the crowd at this news, which was bigger than can be conceived. Any seasoned demonstrator knew to edge out onto the side of the road when the demonstration turned a corner and see the huge column stretch so far back but there was no human ability to conceive of a march that big. It also woke up Brianna who started crying but not exactly in solidarity with the cheering. She had been sleeping and was hungry.

"Shush, shush, darling," Helen said and as the obvious answer came to hand, called out to the others while Nikki quickly went to the back of Helen." Can we camp down somewhere here? Brianna needs a feed and probably a nappy change."

"Leave it to me," Gemma replied and reached for her own rucksack which had this peculiar ability to pack in more than space allowed as she brought forth a rug for everyone to sit sown on. Helen immediately unbuttoned her shirt and unclipped her bra. After all, this was the most natural act a mother could perform as opposed to the madness of war or so Rita thought approvingly. Nikki looked on with an overwhelming feeling of tenderness and pride in her lover. After all, this naturalness of living was what she had striven for all her life, to map it out according to reason and not to be blindfolded by social mores that made no earthly sense.

Finally, they lay down on their patch of ground, one of them propping up their placard as a marker and let the speeches of righteousness flow over them. Speaker after speaker uttered the passionate expressions of feelings that Nikki and Gemma could relate to so easily. After all, they'd been there before in a minor way. This time, their sentiments were going global.

In a dreamy haze, they all started filing out of the park as the evening was starting to draw in much to their surprise. Of course, this should be normal for February, they reasoned, but it still felt unexpected having been transported into this wonderful world. It was in this frame of mind that they crossed the road, only to come across an unexpected visitation.

***********

"Well, this went spectacularly well once again," Neil Haughton said acidly to the harassed looking Sir Percy Thrower as he stared at the closed circuit camera that was filming the demonstration from the overhead helicopter. "Those bloody subversives have pulled it off once again. Why couldn't you find some kind of by-law that could have stopped the bloody march taking place? This is the worst possible option. They've turned out the numbers that even the press won't ignore and there's not even been a trace of violence that can be used to discredit it. I've been informed that the police estimate's going to have to be marked up to a million. That's a PR disaster in case you hadn't realized. "

Sir Percy Thrower sweated under his starched white shirt as he mouthed self-defensive platitudes and considered, not for the first time, that the lot of a top civil servant was not a happy one.

Bobby Hollamby too was cursing under his breath as he drove his heavy-handed hearse because Sylv had been fool enough to want some shopping from the West End for some family birthday or other. She had pigheadedly dismissed the notion that this bloody demonstration was going to be as big as it was. In her eyes, it was all tommyrot that only a few malcontents would go on, waving banners around. They soon found out differently. For a start, half the bloody roads were cordoned off and it was bumper-to-bumper traffic. There were even signs indicating the direction of the march which made them fume. These troublemakers shouldn't be allowed to disturb the traffic this way, far less helped, they both grumbled. After a while, Bobby was sweating and short tempered and finally turned the hearse round the corner by Hyde Park when a crowd of demonstrators suddenly crossed the road.

"What's all this. Lesbians against the war? Against the war, my foot. It's nothing but treason. They should all be locked up on bread and water," Bodybag fumed as Bobby honked at the horn.

The nearest woman had middle length bobbed hair and wore some kind of sack on her back with a baby in it. There was a taller woman alongside her and an elderly woman with a funny kind of walking stick.

"Get out of my way," Bodybag shouted before the horrid truth dawned on her.

"Oh look, it's Bodybag. Your driving's still as crap as ever," Nikki called back cheekily.

"What on earth made you take that bloody death wagon out round London? Why on earth didn't you have the sense to take the tube? That's how we got here," Helen shouted. A general grin spread round the crowd as they knew that was precisely what Bobby was thinking right now.

"Nice to meet you, Sylvia," called out a third voice with that deadly wit and silky tone that would always run rings round Bodybag. "If you'd have only phoned me up, I'd have gladly made arrangements to join us on this social occasion. You could have slept over at my house the same as the rest of my friends did."

Margaret enjoyed this exquisite moment standing in the middle of the road, blocking in her hated niece and partner. Perhaps hatred wasn't quite right, an afterthought came to her. She despised them and all their kind and, more to the point, her feelings were only right and proper. They were clearly embarrassed by this public encounter and she never felt better in her life.

"You can't possibly………" Bodybag said at last, turning a brilliant purple with embarrassment. This couldn't possibly be happening. She had never known it was possible. She also recognized this grey-haired man in the background and his obvious amusement at their plight only made them feel worse. Too late, she recognized him.

"Can't we just," Helen retorted, her eyes dancing with mischief as she became fully aware at just how much their course in life took such a different course from the one that Bodybag had let herself been relentlessly and unquestioningly been directed." Just you wait and see."

They turned away from this luckless pair and made a beeline for a café where they could get something to eat and drink. By chance, they got there first before the hordes of hungry and thirsty demonstrators.

"So where do we go from here?" Helen asked over a mug of steaming hot coffee set before her.

"I don't know, Helen. Somewhere relaxing, to take the weight off our feet," Trisha suggested vaguely, having nothing specific to offer.

"I know, Helen. I want to go into the Stop the War movement fulltime. You know that's where I'm headed," Gemma said eagerly.

"You know that Helen and I have Brianna to bring up. There's only so much we can give," Nikki said, feeling and looking guilty. She had always been sensitive to the thought of falling short of her commitments.

"I had the same dilemma in bringing up Charlie, my daughter," John intervened. Nikki flashed a grateful smile up at John.

"Sally and I have a club to run but whatever we can do in our spare time- what there is of it- you tell us Gemma," Trisha said with an attempt to sound cool, an act which Nikki saw through straightaway.

"Elaine and I will carry on doing what we know best," Rita said with that faint smirk on her face which said everything.

"Claire and I have our professional responsibilities," Jenny said in her clear tones."But we'll do what we can."

"It seems as if we have no choice," Claire said in her cool, self-possessed tones, which said far more than she promised. Helen grinned, knowing her old friend so very well.

"Whatever you do is good enough," Gemma said, knowing full well that this could never feel true of herself, most of all. A relieved smile spread across the faces of the others, John included whose idiosyncratic commitment to the cause need not be spoken. The judgment seemed fair enough to them.

"I really thought since Julia died that my life was over and all I had were my memories," Margaret concluded, her heartfelt thanks visible on her face. "I've had never felt as young at heart for years as I feel right now. You've all given me my life back and taught me that while I'm still on this planet, I still have a future."

"Haven't you just. You've been giving us a future in all the stories you've ever told us. This is one story where we're all here together. We all have a future if we care to fight for it."

It was Claire who said this but any one of them could have said the same. In the background, Margaret's old friends nodded in agreement, having thoroughly enjoyed the experiences of the day. It felt as if their lifelong dreams of freedom had finally been realized in today's hearts and minds. They smiled at each other, each reflecting affectionately on their memories of the past, amongst them Vita and Violet clasping hands and gazing affectionately at these standard-bearers. After all, hadn't they all known that Margaret had had a faultless instinct for the best party was in town?

THE END


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